


The Fire You Put Me Through Turned Me Into Gold

by DismantledSun



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swordfighting, Witchcraft, Witches, that tag is surprisingly accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:33:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 88,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DismantledSun/pseuds/DismantledSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Cause I'm not weak, I'm not broken I am bold</i><br/><i>And the fire you put me through turned me into gold</i><br/><i>I'm not done, I'm no loser</i><br/><i>Watch me take on my bright future</i><br/> <br/>Or, a medieval au in which Luke is the king, and Michael is the worthy man selected to conquer the dragon plaguing the kingdom<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i want to fly away but i'm stuck on the ground

**Author's Note:**

> The title came from the [Golden](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Nvfjn3jKYc) by Ruth B.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _don't want to make it up_  
>  _don't want to let you down_  
>  _i want to fly away_  
>  _but i'm stuck on the ground_  
>  -[Save You by Matthew Perryman Jones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PnGNWFV6Rak)

Once upon a time there were two brothers who had an ordinary life filled with long days of laborious work, too much sun, and barely enough food. The elder had hair as dark as the night and skin so light it seemed sculpted from the marble filling the king’s palace, while the younger was warmer in color, skin always golden as if it had absorbed the sunlight and a round face still filled with an innocence hardly found anymore; it was as though the elder had a soul wounded by arrows to leave his brother untouched.

Together they lived in a small, papyrus colored wattle and daub cottage, its oaken framing growing soft from perpetual dampness, and its walls thinning and breaking. The cottage, though tiny and haphazardly standing over the uneven ground, was still a home to the two boys. It was snuggled up against the wall surrounding the king’s land, cramped in a tiny area that never quite saw the sunlight as it was cast in the shadow from the king’s castle. The brothers’ part of town was dark and dank, but it was where they grew up. They had a certain fondness of the ashen cobbles that never dried after a rain and the air chilled from the cold.

The boys felt isolated in their outskirts, however. They felt alone.

It was hard for two young boys to grow up on their own – to find work at such a young age. They didn’t ask to rise with the sun only to complete every wretched task thrown at them until the sun slipped down the sky. They didn’t ask to choke on soot and grow numb to the burns from the forge. They didn’t ask to go to bed with growing pits of hunger in their stomach as they tried to find comfort on the uneven floor.

They didn’t ask for their parents to burn in the raging flames that still torment the king’s land years later.

It was hard for two boys to mature at such a young age because their parents were buried in the flames of ruin and destruction – the flames of the previous king’s past mistakes. They were overworked, trudging home with tired muscles and dirt smudged across their noses. It was hard for the elder to give his younger brother the life he deserved, but he tried every day through every changing season. Even after fourteen long years, when the elder had reached twenty-one in age and the younger nearing the close of his nineteenth year, their dynamic hadn’t really changed, even when times grew rough.

“Mikey, I’m so hungry,” the younger brother murmured to the elder, his voice weak and breathy. His eyes were fluttered closed, eyelashes casting long shadows across his cheeks as his face grew taught from pain.

“I know, Cal, I know,” Michael said sympathetically, his voice barely a whisper so as not to disturb anything in the small cottage. He laid a cool rag on his brother’s warm forehead, relief filling his heart upon seeing Calum grow minutely relaxed.

Calum was laying atop their only bed, mostly dry straw heaped into a bundle of linen, covered with every meager blanket to be found in the small room. His forehead felt like the fires that plagued the city far too often, and his skin was growing nearly as pale as the walls. Michael tucked the blankets around his bleary eyed brother before whispering reminders and reassurances Calum was bound to forget.

“Hey, Cal, I’m going to see if I can find something – anything – to help you get better, okay? Please just stay in bed and sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And with that, Michael placed a light kiss onto his brother’s head before heading out into the dim street, shivering at the touch of the cool night air. His tattered tunic did nothing to fight back the chill as night transitioned into dawn. He searched around desperately for anything he could afford to purchase or barter to get for his brother, whether it required every meager coin he had saved or the clothes from his back. He needed food, clean water, or potions and herbs that could heal Calum.

As he stepped lightly across the street’s worn stones, his footfalls seeming loud and out of place in the hushed night, Michael saw a piece of damp parchment with a declaration from the king hanging from a pole that held up an old flag with the king’s seal. Both danced limply in the breeze, tattered from the harshness of nature. Michael approached the paper cautiously, his fingers gently wrapping around the corner of the soft flyer before he pulled it from the post. He moved towards the single torch that lit the street and squinted to make out the words as the flame’s light waltzed over the page.

Michael began to read a rough translation of what was being announced, the vocabulary of the nobles and the elaborate lettering making the process exceptionally slow. Eventually he ascertained that there was a challenge proposed by the king: any and all able bodied men were to go to the king’s palace on the following day, therein which the king would select one worthy man to go out and defeat the dragon plaguing the king’s walls. As Michael read further, he saw nothing barring the peasants from joining the king.

He began wondering what would ever compel anyone to show up at all – not contributing the great honor it would bring the knights and nobles – until his eyes fell upon the last line.

_Should the selected succeed, the king will provide him whatever his heart desires for doing such a noble service for the king._

Michael traced the sentence time and time again. _Whatever my heart desires_ , continued to repeat in his head without cease, always followed by his final glance at Calum before he ventured out to find him refuge for his illness. _I have to try, otherwise there’s no hope for Cal._ And with that as his deciding factor, Michael hurried back to the small cottage tucked up against the wall and hastily placed down the flyer near Calum’s bed, hoping it would provide enough information to explain his absence.

He then changed into his best clothes, which were hardly nice at all, but he couldn’t do much better, before he laced up his boots and was set to leave. He cast a worried glace towards where Calum was sleeping fitfully in the driest corner of the cottage and stepped back out into the drafty street.

The walk to the castle was a long and tedious one, filled with pushing his way through people whom he’s never seen before, climbing up seemingly endless sloped streets, tripping over loose cobbles, wrong turns, and longing glances at food he might never be able to afford. Michael hadn’t truly ventured far beyond the small reaches of his corner in the town. Where he and Calum lived, everyone experienced the same squalor – the same malnourishment and inability to find work. It was their own community knit together by their being ostracized from those above them. Passing beyond the confines of such comfort, though, left Michael feeling insignificant and out of place.

Nevertheless, despite the laborious and wearisome trek, Michael eventually reached the king’s castle as the sun rose to midday. The gates stood three times as tall as Michael, the structure itself towering even larger than that. Michael had thought the castle was impressive from a safe distance away, but this was – Michael was as intimidated as he was impressed, to say the least.

He tentatively followed the crowd of nobles through the vast gates and across the well-kept green fields to a long queue of men. Michael felt small despite his height, the essence of power reverberating from the well groomed men frightening him slightly. They were all clothed in gleaming armor with brightly colored family crests emblazoned on their chests. All of their clothes were hardly tainted by signs of true labor, used more for outlandish displays in such a gathering of their competitive counterparts.

Michael seemed out of place with his porcelain skin, grey colored clothes, and lack of armor. His rough hands were coated in a fine layer of soot, and his skin never warmed in color at the touch of the sun. Pulling his arms across his chest, he closed in on himself to appear smaller. Despite his thought that looking frail wouldn’t help him stand out against the other bulky and arguably more physically equipped men when it came time for the king to select his champion, Michael was far too overwhelmed to unfurl his hunched posture.

Soon the murmur of conversations fell to a hush, pulling Michael from his worrisome thoughts, as a man came striding across the field, his choice of apparel more extravagant than even the wealthiest of men. Michael found it to be the most grandiose statements of wealth he had but seen, scoffing to himself at the man’s self-lauding, but as the figure grew closer, Michael found his offhand remarks quieting.

Michael’s posture straightened upon reflex, whether due to the presence of a noble of such class or happenstance Michael couldn’t say, but his worried features smoothed out as he focused on the man. Aside from elaborately made armor, Michael could make out a rich navy blue tunic peeking out from underneath the chainmail, the man’s family crest embroidered in a fine silver thread.

That, however, wasn’t what had caught Michael’s attention, but rather the softness of the man’s features; despite his stern and calculated movements, his face was young and relaxed. His eyes were the color of oceans Michael could but dream to see, quelled with a calmness, almost – but not quite – masking the worry behind them. Even the man’s lips were smooth save for a small circle of ebony metal interrupting the left corner, with no hint at a frown tugging at them, and his blond hair wisped up from his forehead, creating an artfully unkempt look. Michael definitely considered the man a picture of perfection.

Michael’s eyes then trailed down his body, once again resting on the family crest. The intricate design grew familiar to his mind; rearing horses mirrored one another as two silver crowns rested adjacently on the sapphire of the quarterly divided shield. It wasn’t until the man halted his pace in the center of the crowd that Michael was able to recall him. He was the king. King Luke.

 _Fuck_ , Michael thought, a pained expression seizing control of his features. He wanted nothing more than to hasten off and pace around while tugging at his hair; he wanted to comprehend the sudden realization he’d had, but the king began speaking and all thoughts were pushed aside.

“Men,” King Luke began, his light voice suggesting a kinder heart than his title might have suggested, “Thank you for gathering here today under a noble cause as such. We are united under our desire to put an end to the plague that seizes our city. The great dragon, _Ardens Anguis_ , has spent far too many years lighting fire to my fellow subjects and friends, and I shan’t let him burn any, whether they be men, women, peasants, or nobles.

“It is my desire that I can but select one of you worthy men to seek the great dragon and cease its violence. As I have outlined in the summons that brought you all before me, I plan to go around and eventually decide upon the savior of this kingdom. He who completes the task shall be given rewards beyond his wildest dreams.

“Now men, gather yourselves in a queue of an organized fashion. I will make haste along it to observe those who have placed themselves before me. Do not fear should I ask questions of you; I need to determine who is fit to be my champion.”

With that, King Luke walked briskly towards one end of the long and desultorily formed line of men – the one nearest to Michael, much to his disdain – and strode along it with a determination in his step. Occasionally he would shake hands with a man whom Michael assumed the king knew, or offer a nod on another’s direction, but his feet never slowed for long. The king was giving everyone a passing glace at best. Or so it seemed.

Upon reaching Michael’s place in line, the king hesitated before stopping his progression entirely, his navy cape falling to bunch around his feet. There was a slight shift in King Luke’s demeanor, how his broad shoulders grew minutely relaxed, how his face changed from scrutinizing to curious, how his cheeks flushed, and Michael was unsure as to whether he should feel honored or terrified. Michael was well aware of his being the only peasant to attend the king’s palace, which served little to help him blur into the groups of men queued on either side of him, but he hardly thought that would gain the attention of the king in such a way.

“Prithee, what is your name?” the king asked, but his voice was soft, hinting at genuine interest. It shed some of its authoritative rule in favor of kindness.

“Michael Clifford, my Lord.”

“Please, bypass the formalities. I’m Luke,” the King rushed, brushing away the title with an absent wave of his hand.

“Of course, my Lord,” Michael responded politely, having no intentions of showing any semblance of disrespect towards the king. Despite King Luke’s outward demeanor seen as being leagues kinder than previously thought, Michael wasn’t one to drop his guard so quickly.

King Luke had an amused look on his face upon Michael’s reply, not quite hiding the disappointment at how he was still addressed by his formal title. “Why did you come here? Why volunteer for such as task as this? The infamy? The ascension in social status?”

“No, my Lord, none of those,” Michael said with knit eyebrows, hardly fathoming as conceited a motive as such. “It’s my brother, you see. He’s starved to the point of illness. He’s dying, to be blatant, and I can’t do much more to stop death from taking hold of him. I was just thinking...”

“Thinking what?”

“That this is my last hope. Maybe I’d finally be able to afford even the most meager of food, potions, or pure water should I be victorious. I just want to be able to care for him.”

“What of yourself,” King Luke inquired, studying Michael’s face with a mixture of appreciation and concern.

“I’m not nearly as high ranking in regards to importance.”

Having said that, Michael saw the king set his jaw as his façade smoothed seamlessly over his face, but once again his eyes betrayed him as they filled with a sadness. Michael sympathized with the king, for he had to live with knowing his subjects were starved throughout his kingdom. Unlike his father before him, King Luke actually wanted to save his people, not let them fend for themselves. The news that Calum was dying and that Michael cared so little about his own wellbeing must have knocked down everything King Luke built up; he had done a lot for his kingdom, but not enough. Not yet.

“But you’re so young. You’ve much to live for,” the king argued after a moment’s hesitation, his voice skillfully measured and even.

“As does my brother, my Lord, and I’d rather know he lived through his years happy than not have lived at all.”

“If you do go to fight the great dragon, Michael, you could very well die.”

“And if I don’t Calum is sure to die.”

“Is that his name? Calum?” the king asked quietly. His features softened once again, breaking the mask he so frequently wore for others. Michael was intrigued as to why King Luke was both well versed in the skill of hiding his thoughts, but also grew relaxed around him; his transitions between were so smooth that Michael wondered if the king even realized of his schooling of his expression. Perhaps it could have been Michael’s inferiority to the king, but he hadn’t the courage to ask. Instead he just nodded in response to the king’s question.

“Is Calum the only reason you’d venture to fight _Ardens Anguis_?”

“The great dragon burned my parents many a years ago, and ending his life would avenge the loss of my parents and all those who were slaughtered under his terror,” Michael said carefully. He began to notice the other men surrounding him mutter to each other about his extended conversation with King Luke. “But I wouldn’t venture so far as to say vengeance is the single motive.”

“How long ago was that particular bout of terror?”

“Fourteen years, my Lord.”

“You were at the age of how many years? Seven?” King Luke mused aloud, pausing for Michael to nod slightly before continuing on. “And Calum was of what age?”

“Not yet six years.”

“The both of you have managed to care for yourselves thus far? I, myself, was just a young boy at the time of that attack, frightened beyond all belief. I am rather impressed with your fortitude, Michael,” King Luke commended, with the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. He quickly suppressed it by pulling his ebony ring between his teeth.

Michael felt a flush he so desperately tried to fight down rise to his cheeks as he offered his thanks to the king. The voices of the surrounding men grew louder with snickers mixed into their clamor, giving Michael reason to bring a hasty close to his conversation with the king. The scorn and disapproval sent towards Michael hardly affected him, yet Michael didn’t wish it to fall onto the king; he was nearly of the same years as Michael, if a few moons younger, and yet was already under great disapproval from his late father’s peers.

“Perhaps you ought to continue with haste through the remaining men,” Michael suggested in a soft voice. “It appears that our extended conversation has caught the attention of others.”

An embarrassed flush passed over King Luke’s face as he glanced about in his peripherals. “I hadn’t noticed they were talking about– It would be unideal if they– I can’t–,” he let out in a rush before taking a moment to breathe and calm his speech. “Thank you for notifying me of this matter.”

Michael nodded, smiling to himself at how the king’s regal air had returned in an instant. He watched as the king addressed the men he had spoken to prior.

“Men, head over to the soldiers’ training area off yonder. Once I am done with the rest of these men I shall make haste there myself. I wish to test your abilities in fighting,” King Luke called loudly before turning to Michael again. “You, as well. Go try your hand with a sword.”

The king stepped past him before Michael could but respond, hesitancy and concern filling him as he walked towards where the other men had congregated. He saw the odd looks cast in his direction but elected to pay them no mind, choosing instead to pull a sword from the meager racks of ones provided.

The best sword Michael could find was severely lacking, an estoc with its long blade warped and its balance off. The blade of the longsword was overcompensating for the weight of the handle, and its curvature caused it to veer ever so slightly towards the right. Overall, it was poorly suited for fighting, for even the edge of its tip was dulled and tarnished. Should Michael even be able to pierce through the chainmail of his enemy and mar their skin, all he would do is render them ill with infection after a great passing of time. He feared for the fate of the kingdom should the knights’ weapons be in the same state as Michael’s.

Nevertheless, Michael gripped the hilt tightly with both hands and began to practice, warming up his muscles as the swordsmanship techniques he learned from long ago resurfaced in his memory. He was striking at the invisible enemy cast before his eyes, left foot gaining advance of the other as his rigid arms held him defensively, Michael deflected hits and parried. All of the movements were ingrained in his mind, and, although he hadn’t wielded a sword in years, he had never felt more confident with one in hand.

Perhaps it was the newfound sunlight bathing his skin in warmth or the breeze that whispered across the king’s vast lands as opposed to that which tunneled through his narrow street screaming. Michael could taste the sweetness of a more pleasant life for himself and Calum, and the key to achieving it was held in his hands.

Michael continued to practice, brandishing the estoc and testing the greatness of its sweep, seeing if he could still achieve the more skilled strokes should he be met by an opponent with greater skill than his. He relaxed into the movements, working with ease as the sun continued to warm his fair skin and the breeze cooled it down. Getting lost in what he was doing, Michael hadn’t noticed that King Luke had finished striding over to the practice area, gleaming silver sword in hand. He immediately started up a duel with a fellow noble, quickly overcoming the man as he knocked the weapon from the noble’s hand with a final blow that felled him.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Michael watched as the rest of the midafternoon carried out with King Luke selecting someone to fight with, quickly overcoming whomever he chose. There were some matches that came close, yet no one was able to surpass the king’s abilities. Unlike Michael’s dull-edged longsword, King Luke wielded broadsword, its sharper blade narrowing to a point. Thinking methodically, Michael decided that he should assume more of a defensive position, utilizing the reach that his sword had over the king’s to maintain distance between the sharp blade when his time to duel came.

Michael became lost in thought, contemplating techniques as he resumed his solitary practice. Not soon after, the sound of metal clashing around him quieted down, pulling Michael from his focus. He looked up to see the other men gazing in his direction. Scanning the field, Michael saw King Luke striding up towards him. The king stopped a safe distance away with a neutral expression on his face, eyes bright with excitement, as he said, “Raise your sword.”

Michael did as told, clenching his jaw when he heard the small laughs and jeers from the crowd of men stopping to watch them; it sounded as though the nobles were pleased to watch such sport be made from his duel with King Luke. Michael refused to give them what they desired. The king shot him a peculiar look but said nothing, instead raising his own sword to the level of Michael’s to signal the start of the duel.

King Luke immediately pressed forward, forcing Michael into the defensive position he was anticipating. The king laid on attack after attack while Michael focused all of his attention on blocking the strikes, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet backwards to avoid the advances. He tried to remain at a distance where the king had to work to maintain offense, deflecting the king’s sword away from his body.

There was a slight shift on the king’s face when he saw how well Michael was responding to the sudden onslaught of moves. After a passing of time, King Luke paused momentarily, allowing both to catch their breaths from the fast pace of their brief duel.

“You’re doing surprisingly better than anticipated,” the king said to Michael, voice breathy as a grin slowly filled his tired face.

“As are you, since you’ve already dueled with others far better suited than I am.”

“Ah, but I– Is your sword bent?” the king asked, his attention quickly shifting.

“I–,” Michael started, taken aback by the sudden change in the conversation. He had to take a moment to remember if there was a curvature to the longsword in hand. “Yes, it is. It keeps veering slightly towards the right.”

“You’ve fought so well,” the king commented absentmindedly, confusion lacing his voice.

“I had practiced overcompensating for the error in the blade, anticipating the imbalance before I go to move.”

“That, Michael Clifford, is rather impressive. You’ve not ceased to amaze me today,” King Luke praised, pulling his ebony ring between his teeth. Whether he was suppressing a smile or in thought, Michael didn’t know.

“Thank you,” Michael mumbled quietly, lowering his weapon slightly because he was more focused on deflecting the embarrassment he felt from the king’s statement.

“Don’t let your guard down,” King Luke smirked, coming at Michael with grace and agility in his step. It took Michael hurried and rushed blocks to evade nearly every advance the king made, but his movements were filled with lethargy – he couldn’t make up for the late start he got.

The distance between Michael and King Luke was shorter than before, giving the king a slight advantage what with his closer ranged weapon. With his lack of armor, Michael couldn’t support his blade more defensively with his hand towards the point, relying on the strength of his fast weakening arms to assist him.

The King then thrust forward, restrained in his movements so as not to injure Michael, but with the intent still there. The strength behind Michael’s counterstrike fell below par, allowing him to force King Luke’s blade away enough so it grazed along his right cheekbone.

Michael felt warm blood trickle down his right cheek, the side of his face stinging through he refused to let the pain grow apparent. The nobles around him dampened their sporadic talking, as though everything had grown still, yet all Michael focused on was how King Luke’s lips parted in shock at what had happened. Concern began to fill his face, yet he didn’t make an effort to mask it.

Seeing the opportunity opening, Michael started forward, taking advantage of the king’s momentary hesitation. Pommel forward, Michael struck at King Luke, both disarming him and sending him to the ground. He quickly flicked the broadsword up from the grass and raised its point towards the king’s neck, his own estoc finding a vulnerable place in the chainmail near the king’s underarm.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Michael mimicked, the smirk filling his face cut off by pain.

King Luke’s face grew pallid, eyes widening, but a slow smile grew across it as he nodded slightly at Michael. At that signal, Michael lowered the weapons and set them gingerly to the ground. He then tentatively offered his hand to the king, who, to Michael’s surprise, accepted it willingly and rose back to his feet.

The king stepped close to Michael as if to inspect the cut across his cheek, but his eyes bore into Michael’s as he started whispering, “We shall dress that with haste, but in a short while. Whatever I’m about to say, don’t take it to heart. I will explain everything in due time, but sometimes people are unable to handle truths they don’t wish to hear. Okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Michael replied unconvincingly, his voice lilting up into a question.

With that confirmation, King Luke resumed his act of seeing to the wound before he turned to face the crowd of astonished men, Michael lingering slightly behind him. With all that had happened, Michael hoped to once again hide in the background, so as not to draw more attention towards himself. It was a rather drastic deviation from his quiet life in the far reaches of the town.

“Men,” the king said loudly, “It appears as though we have found the kingdom’s savior.”

King Luke swept his arm backwards towards Michael, looking more filled with worry than the relief he should have felt, but it disappeared quickly. A murmur of collective disapproval carried throughout the men, the king waiting patiently for it to die down before continuing.

“I had anticipated this dissent, but let me go on to explain. This man is but a peasant, as I’m certain you have been able to ascertain. In regards to this kingdom’s defense, he does little – I can’t lose my nobles and knights should this war with the great dragon be perpetuated. He’s just a laborer though, likely working odd jobs in the small recesses of the kingdom. Should the dragon kill him, it would be of no great cost to us. He’s proven himself physically. He would make for a good starting point in this war with the great dragon. Men, do you now agree?”

The king then earned a few nods from the many who had offered their disapproval beforehand, a few “aye!”s resonating out from the crowd. Although there were still a few skeptical faces amongst the crowd, King Luke had quickly managed to sway their previous positions. Michael, however, felt the warmth of anger spreading in his chest. He immediately attempted to bury it deep down and ignore it.

“Should there be the need to find another man, I shall call every man back to these grounds and discuss the matter, but in the meantime, go and return to your homes and families. Thank you for taking time out of your day,” King Luke finished, waving them off before smoothing his palm across Michael’s lowering back, pushing him gently towards the castle.

The walk from the guards’ training grounds to the inside of the castle was hardly long, but gave the opportunity for the two to strike up a conversation. Michael elected to remain silent, though, the king’s words swimming in his head and the feeling of his palm burning into his back.

Michael knew he was to disregard what the king had said, but he found it increasingly difficult as the anger seethed inside of him. How could he be so openly belittled and mocked before a crowd of such esteem? He was nothing more than expendable in their eyes, a notion so heavily reinforced by King Luke’s statement. Michael was deeply wounded by the king once more, confusion clouding him, but he had the decency to wait until they entered the torch lit hallways of the castle before confronting him.

“What the hell was that?” Michael asked loudly, voice echoing throughout the empty passageway as he turned on King Luke. Malcontent was bursting out of him, and he was unable to dampen it any further.

“Michael,” King Luke said, sadness tinting his voice, but no trace of patronization. “I advised you not to take what I would say to heart.”

“Then how was I supposed to take it, your majesty?” Michael pressed bitterly, the sneer attempting to fill his face reaching his voice. He flinched slightly at the pain, but maintained his resolve. There was no restraint in offending the king.

“Now you look here,” King Luke said, voice stern but eyes kind, pushing Michael up against the cool stone wall with his forearm. The king’s broad frame and strength were greatly overpowering Michael, rendering him unable to do much but hunch into the wall. “You cannot fathom how tentatively I must approach every aspect of my decisions to create balance on such unstable grounds. My place here might be revered, but it’s like walking neck deep in water; one wrong footing and I slip under the waves, bringing everything I stand for to drown with me.”

“My Lord, you denounced a great many people to such an influential crowd,” Michael exclaimed, wide eyed as he looked up to the king, who had since stepped backwards. He felt that his outrage was just.

“Influential crowd,” King Luke laughed, looking away with a slight roll of his eyes. He tugged his arms across his stomach, shoulders curving inward. “They are greedy – sponges soaking up their falsified glory and riches. _My_ soldiers, _mine_ , are more well-equipped for any task, but these are desperate times. I’ve no one of the ranks left to spare.”

“So you summon corrupt men to accomplish such a necessary task? You intend to rely on them? Only to select me, of all the abler bodied men so willing to sacrifice themselves, yet you justify your decision so indecently?”

“Those men,” the king began, eyes bright with enmity, “Are my father’s friends, not mine. The mutiny that would occur should I displeasure so many! The resentment they feel towards me already for assuming my father’s role? I’m playing a game against so many, knowing full well I’m going to lose yet I keep trying.”

“Why bother, though?” Michael inquired, his shoulders gaining indentations from the stone, despite the king’s having fallen back against the mirroring wall, giving Michael free range of movement. Michael felt infinitely smaller than he had before. “Why feed them lies?”

“Why lose the only true support I can gain? I haven’t the strength to gain their spite. So I tell lies to far too many people. I’ve managed to excel at it some short time after the beginning of the practice, as much I loath to admit. I like to think of it as empty promises.”

“You’ve support from so many below you, my Lord. You’ve made an impact on this kingdom, whether you or the other nobles refuse to see it,” Michael replied. The change in the nature of their conversation felt rather heavy. “This land is filled with empty promises.”

“Is that something you actually believe?”

“The empty promises that things will all be well – that you can fix things, that you know what you’re doing,” Michael started, pausing as the king’s face fell and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Telling the people you love that you’ll be alright when you know in your heart you won’t be. Even the lies you feed yourself, trying to believe in what you said.”

“I suppose this land is consumed in empty promises. Empty promises and lies. Aren’t we all corrupt?” the king agreed, laughing with no amusement behind it, shifting his eyes back up to Michael. “Christ, your face.”

The king then stepped forward, hand raised to gently touch the wound beneath Michael’s eye. Michael flinched slightly at the contact, in part because the cut still stung, but also because the king’s fingertips were as cold as ice. At Michael’s response, the king lowered his hand slightly, having it hover in the small space between them. Michael could still feel where the king’s fingers had been.

“I’m certain it’s hardly as bad as it might appear.”

“Meanwhile, I certainly don’t believe you,” the king said, a soft smile on his face, traipsing backwards down the corridor. “It needs to be cleaned and dressed. Then we can decide if it’s as bad as it appears or not.”

Michael made to follow but hesitated, standing rooted in his tracks, barely pushed off from the wall. He vacillated between calling out to the king or staying silent. After a moment though, King Luke stopped and turned back to Michael with a confused but patient look upon his face.

“Michael?” King Luke asked softly, concern etched on his face. Michael wondered why the king wasn’t as guarded around him, but decided to table that question.

“My brother. I really must go make sure he’s alright. I’ve been gone all the day,” Michael offered, stepping slightly backwards from the king.

“Then perhaps we ought to journey to wherever your brother is residing and bring him to the castle? That way I and a close few I trust can keep watch over his health? Rather live through one’s years happy than not live at all, yes?”

“Pardon?” Michael asked abruptly, highly taken aback by the king’s offer. “I mean–”

“I can’t let your ill brother stay where he is, Michael. Whilst you’re away I shall let him stay in the castle and take care of him, and, heaven forbid, should you never return.”

“How could I but repay you, my Lord?” Michael asked, astounded. The king looked genuinely earnest in his offer, which meant much to Michael.

“You’ve already offered to fight the great dragon plaguing our kingdom,” King Luke replied with an amused laugh. “That’s more than enough. If anything, you’ll cease using those formal titles yet. But in the interim, let us go and bring your brother somewhere that I can promise he won’t fall ill with malnourishment.”

With that statement of finality, King Luke opened the door they had entered in earlier. Michael quickly hurried to his side, the tiniest of smiles filling his face, for he knew that this promise given by the king wasn’t an empty one.

Together they walked back across the army’s training grounds, reaching the gate that offered entrance onto the king’s land. Two armed guards flanked the twisted iron, poised to protest the king’s leaving. King Luke shook his head slightly and pulled his finger across his lips, silencing them. Michael noticed the king’s hand never dropped from his mouth, fingers dancing across the ebony ring absentmindedly.

The sun was at their backs, dipping below the tallest battlements of the king’s castle as they walked down the cobbles towards Michael’s cottage. King Luke had been following Michael in silence, eyebrows taught in thought. If Michael was being honest, it was disconcerting.

“You need to stop thinking,” Michael chastised, glancing left at the king, slowing to a halt to face him. The king looked up at him, visage slowly smoothing out.

“There’s quite a lot on my mind,” King Luke admitted after a pause. He sighed and dropped his gaze.

“Should you need to talk about it, there’s quite a long journey before we reach Calum,” Michael offered, dampening his intrigue by replacing it with concern. “I’m not quite fit to live in this proximity to the castle.”

“I can’t fathom it being that easy to speak of, Michael,” King Luke murmured, starting to step forward despite not knowing where he was going. Michael gently touched his elbow to guide him down a side street.

“Then let us speak of something else. Tell me of the ebony that pierces through your skin,” Michael suggested instead.

“That was but an act of brazenness,” the king said with a laugh, pulling the small ring between his teeth before continuing. “It was my trying to demonstrate how I am not the others. It only served to ostracize me.”

“You’re not like the others of your class,” Michael agreed, a stoic air around him. “But that hardly demeans your rule or what you stand for. Now you look like a foreboding, but no less excellent, king.”

“I suppose it is a tad foreboding. I vanished from the castle to coerce a blacksmith into crafting it for me. The pain was unimaginable. Were it not for alchemists and physicians, an infection would have rendered me severely ill.”

“The greatest of fortitude seen in our king,” Michael commended, amusement lacing his tone. “That must have made for quite the tale. Adventure throughout his kingdom, slipping life held in such a precarious balance, it’s a wonder you’re king and not the scribe of such great stories, my Lord.”

“You dare play with delights and humor, yet still address me with such formalities,” King Luke wondered aloud, filled with intrigue. With a dark passing over the town, Michael could hardly see how bright the king’s eyes were, how they were teeming with a sadness his voice masked. “It’s as if I’m my father. I’m not my father.”

“Are you stating truth or trying to convince yourself of the notion?” Michael asked carefully, voice slowing to perceive the king’s reaction. Michael focused on the king’s shadowed face, blue eyes paled and filled with distraught. King Luke looked more of a common person than a king, vulnerable than shielded, earnest than falsified.

“My father,” the king began, quiet and hesitant, “Was a selfish bastard. He was so caught up in combatting the burning dragons that he cared little of anything else – his family, his friends, his kingdom, his subjects. He left them all to fend for themselves while he embarked on _noble_ quests. The dragons were murdered, their blood staining the ground, never to be fully washed away. My father found joy in ending their lives.

“Then he heard of a clever dragon, _Ardens Anguis_ , whose eyes glowed like a smoldering fire. He was the last dragon wreaking havoc on the realm, so he sought out to kill him, but in the end he burnt my father. I know that the great dragon is deadly, having lit the city on fire many a times, but my father’s wits were not with him. So I was left to take the throne at such a young age of seventeen, to clean the rubble of a kingdom my father left me. I was left to build everything up from the ruins left on the ground. I was left to care for my immediate family, after being a foolish young boy before.

“As I walk around, I see how bad the kingdom is; I see the poor conditions the common people live in. I thought I’ve been doing much to help, but it’s hardly placed down a foundation to rebuild everything. Michael, I feel as though I’m failing as a ruler, only serving to reduce more to dust. I’m to help everyone, and yet the nobles – my father’s friends – are the only ones well off enough for a contented life.”

Once the king had finished speaking he grew a bit deflated, tense posture relaxing as his shoulders fell. Michael grew concerned that the king was truly disappointed in himself despite his wanting nothing more than to foster better lives for the people of his kingdom.

“Luke,” Michael muttered, the king’s lips parting at the name. “I beg of you, don’t think ill of yourself. Not to speak poorly of your father, but you’ve done more than he ever did. You aren’t filled with pride or vanity – you don’t act on impulse to further your reverence – rather yet you care for how those living in your kingdom are. You care for their wellbeing.”

“My appreciation, but these attempts have been all for naught. There are still people living in squalor.”

“I can assure you that people here are happier and healthier than they ever were. Trust me when I say this: you’ve made a great impact, even if you can’t see it. Conditions may pale in comparison to the life that you live, but people are genuinely happy. There’s food to be eaten and jobs to be done. They’re more content with this life of labor than the one they had many years back.”

Luke opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by Michael – a defiant act that Michael assumed would have resulted in great reprimanding – but Luke made no movements to stop Michael. He, instead, tried once more to protest, but was interrupted by Michael pulling him into a hug.

The king tentatively brought his arms to encircle Michael’s waist. He was warm in Michael’s embrace, broad yet small, strong yet fragile. Michael was ever intrigued by the king.

“You’ve made my life infinitely better, even just in this short time today. I promise,” Michael murmured, hoping it was a promise worth believing. “Let’s go see my brother. Then I can prove to you that you’ve saved yet another innocent soul.”

Michael then broke from the embrace and started walking briskly down the street once more, not pausing to gauge the king’s reaction. They were carried through the empty streets, Luke lingering slightly behind Michael. A content silence enveloped them.

After a short time, Michael stopped in front of his cottage, Luke nearly stumbling into him. His cottage was in greater disrepair than the others they had passed, appearing as though the faintest of breezes could cause the small building to go tumbling down. Michael opened the door with no hesitancy, though, knowing well that it was sturdier than its exterior exhibited.

They entered the single room, the furnishings sparse and lacking. Calum looked frail under the blankets heaped over him, his chest rising and falling shallowly. Michael elected to disregard the bare spot on the dusty floor where he slept. Some things were better left unmentioned, so he looked fondly on towards Calum.

“Michael,” Luke whispered, glancing about with a concerned look. He seemed more worried about how Michael’s living conditions were hardly uncommon than being in a place of such filth. “How could you live here yet still have that sloppy smile about your face.”

“I’ve nowhere else to go, so why let it hinder my mood?” Michael countered. “Although, I’m particularly happy because Cal is still here, sleeping more contently than when I had left.”

Michael stepped towards Calum, slowly bending his knees until he was in a deep squat in order to make out Calum’s features in the dim light. His dark chocolate brown hair was trying to curl up above his forehead but couldn’t from the sweat and dirt that was weighing it down. His eyebrows were pressed together slightly and his lips were held taught in displeasure. Calum’s appearance was very disheveled; Michael could barely make out Calum’s expression through the layer of grime and dirt.

Luke sunk to his knees next to Michael, studying Calum for a fleeting moment before his gaze rested on Michael. Michael felt his cheeks start to burn from being under such scrutiny, electing to not look towards the king.

“Would you mind helping me lift him up?” Michael asked quietly after a moment, finally looking towards Luke. Luke’s mouth turned up into a slight smile, eyes kind.

“Of course,” Luke replied earnestly, shifting his weight to better support Calum.

Together they gently lifted Calum from the mattress and into Michael’s arms, taking the multitude of blankets with him. With a soft nod, Michael motioned to Luke that there was nothing left to do, and they exited from the cottage, retracing their steps until the light of the castle’s torches could be seen once more.

Their return was filled with a comfortable silence, only the soft sounds of the night and their footsteps echoing throughout the streets. Luke strayed slightly behind Michael, seemingly lost in thought. Michael grew wary that he had fallen behind until he heard the king trip over uneven cobbles. He waited until Luke was by his side before continuing back to the castle once more.

“What happened to my asking you to cease your thinking?” Michael asked softly, not raising his voice to keep from disturbing others during the dark of the night.

“It’s not done with as much ease as you might think,” Luke replied sadly, head tilted town towards his feet as they passed across the closely trimmed grass surrounding the castle. “I’ve been taught to overthink.”

“You need to focus on something else, then.”

“Such as?”

“Focus on my voice,” Michael suggested quietly and uncertainly, the pitch of his voice raising into more of a question than a statement. “Every word you hear me speak pushes out on a thought that is cluttering your mind. Focus not on the eclectic thoughts floating around in your head, but of the words that emanate from me. You need to calm yourself. I know not of what you worry of, but you have made this kingdom a better place even from your short time on the throne. That, I can assure you. Please promise me that you won’t let this get to you.”

“How do you know it won’t be another empty promise?” Luke wondered, his voice growing ever more even from Michael’s words. Neither of them seemed to understand how such simple acts produced such effects. Perhaps it was because they were two gentle souls living in a world on fire, and they had yet to stumble upon such kindness and caring until then.

“I trust you.”

Luke’s face grew slack from shock, peering at Michael as though he was filled with sorcery; his words seemed to push all unease from Luke’s face. Never had Michael been able to calm someone in such a short time.

“I promise,” Luke said, his face filling with a youth and innocence that he embodied, completely shedding his façade of king. “And I make this promise with all I have.”

Michael smiled at Luke, but said nothing. Somehow, Michael knew he need not respond.

They quickly made their way into the castle from its grounds, once again entering the hallway they had argued in. Luke led Michael throughout the expanse of long passages, the darkness and emptiness he had first seen in the castle giving way to lavish decorations.

Great tapestries were hanging from the larger rooms they had passed, while the narrower hallways had lines of windows interrupted with rows of stained glass interrupted by thin designs of lead. Michael could hardly fathom how beautiful the king’s castle would be once it filtered in the sun’s rays. The colors would be greater than anything he had seen working on the dusty streets back home.

Eventually they came across a room with light seeping up from under the doorway. Luke walked ahead, knocking slightly in request of entrance. A soft voice called out, bleary from a tiredness that drew from the more outspoken quality it seemed to possess.

“Ashton, might I ask of a favor?” Luke asked upon entering the room, addressing his cousin, the slightly older boy with the mop of light colored hair and soft features who was staring intently at a book placed on his lap. He was sitting cross-legged on a lavishly made bed, posture straight yet with his head down.

“Lucas, I am not in the mood to assist one of my uncle’s friends again. Perhaps you should take up this problem with someone who cares more than I,” Ashton replied, not once glancing up from his book. He didn’t seem irritable to Michael, just weary and apathetic towards the nobles that the king so greatly despised as well.

“This isn’t for one of father’s friends, Ash.”

Luke’s statement struck Ashton’s interest, causing him to look up to see what brought Luke to seek his assistance. Confusion passed across Ashton’s face like a shadow, his eyes flitting between Luke, Michael, and Calum resting limply in Michael’s arms.

“Luke,” Ashton tapered with concern. “What’s happened?”

“I’ve selected Michael as the man to defeat the great dragon. His brother is very ill, so I’ve promised to care for him while Michael is away. We brought him to the castle, but I need him to stay with someone whom I know can be trusted. Ash, please?”

Ashton opened his mouth to speak, but no words sounded, as though he had reconsidered what he had intended to say. After glancing between Michael and Calum, Ashton let out a heavy sigh. He only seemed mildly bothered, looking longingly towards his book for a fleeting moment before slipping to the edge of his bed, feet softly hitting the floor.

“Lay him here, Michael. Luke, you need to go fetch a bowl of warm water and a few rags. Perhaps even some dressings and ointments from the physician. Michael’s face is a disaster,” Ashton instructed calmly, his face showing a hint of amusement.

Michael walked over to the bed upon which Ashton was sitting, gently setting Calum down to avoid any jolting movements before kneeling upon the cold stone floor. He heard Luke quietly exit from the room as he began to smooth blankets over Calum and push his damp hair from his forehead.

“Michael,” Ashton said softly, hand reaching out to nearly still Michael’s own. “These meager blankets hardly suffice. Please, use one of mine instead.”

Michael opened his mouth in protest, filled with the intent of arguing such a gracious offer, but Ashton had already carefully dropped Michael’s own blankets to the floor, laying his exquisitely made ones over Calum. They showed no sign of wear, appearing to be filled with a soft down that would be of greater warmth than Michael’s.

“Pray tell, Luke selected you?” Ashton inquired after a moment, embodying an innocent interest. He smoothed the back his hand across Calum’s forehead, frowning before glancing towards the door Luke had left from.

“Yes, it seems to be so,” Michael replied, more words of answer not forming across his tongue.

“You’re worthy,” Ashton offered shortly, casting an earnest glance at Michael.

“Pardon?”

“Luke doesn’t make decisions without reason, and you’ve certainly more reason for this fight than any of those who offered their services,” Ashton began, cut off by Luke’s quiet reentrance. They both turned towards him as he peered at them wide eyed, saying nothing.

He padded across the floor before kneeling on the ground next to Michael to set the various items he had carried back down. Once he finished, there was a wooden bowl filled nearly to the brim of water and an abundance of cloth sitting between them. Luke handed one already soaked rag wordlessly to Ashton.

“Before you start to enquire,” Ashton began, gently resting the rag over Calum’s forehead. “Michael and I were, in fact, discussing you in your absence.”

“I should expect nothing less,” Luke smiled, turning his attention towards Michael.

Michael watched as Luke dipped one of his rags into the water, wringing it out until it stopped dripping. He raised it to Michael’s face and dabbed gingerly to clean off the blood that had dried there from before. Luke worked methodically, carefully avoiding the wound until it was all that was left to be clean.

Michael’s eyes fell shut with a grimace, the lukewarm cloth passing across his cheekbone. He felt Luke’s hand still momentarily before continuing even more carefully than before.

“I am honestly very sorry for doing this to you, Michael,” Luke apologized softly, his eyes brimming with sadness.

“I assure you, there was no harm done. I am honestly quite fine,” Michael responded, eyes still fluttered shut.

“I shouldn’t have–”

“It was a fair fight. You need not apologize to me,” Michael said, cutting off Luke’s protests. He looked at Luke pointedly, seeking any semblance of agreement, pleased to find no resentment at interrupting the king. Michael grew to realize that he was one of few able to contradict Luke.

A silence fell over the room as Luke took long strips of linen and bound them over Michael’s wound, tying them across the bridge of his nose to keep them supported. Michael studied Luke’s face as his fingers carefully worked in tying a knot to secure the linen. His brows were creased and eyes seemingly unfocused.

“I’ve discovered that you think far more than you should,” Michael said once Luke’s hands fell from his face, peering at his dressings.

“You state your opinion openly, Michael Clifford,” Luke replied, not acknowledging what Michael had said.

“If you wish for me to keep it to myself, please tell me. As of right now, however, you’ve given me no reason to not openly state what I think.”

“Most people wouldn’t dare state their thoughts in front of the king,” Luke countered – challenged – as his voice grew to a whisper, face flushing as he kept it turned from Ashton. Michael grew amused at the king’s embarrassment.

“Oh, but you’re not like the other nobles,” Michael commented while Luke’s muttered, “Although, you’re hardly ‘most people,’” grew lost underneath Michael’s statement.

“What makes you say that?” Luke enquired, genuine curiosity filling his voice upon making out what Michael had said.

“Your mannerisms show that you are very stern and commanding, especially through the set of your shoulders and the decisiveness of your walk. Your face – particularly your eyes – give away that you’re not like that at all. There’s a kindness to your features that leads me to believe you’re quite open to what others have to say. Upon first glace one could be frightened of crossing you, but that’s really not the case, is it?” Michael asked nonchalantly, openness in his statement. He didn’t fear any repercussions the king might have.

“I– I suppose there’s a truth to what you say,” Luke agreed after a moment. His speech became very measured as though he carefully chose each word.

“Oh, Lucas, we both know he’s entirely correct,” Ashton interjected, finally offering input on the conversation he had been listening to. “If you called me out on even half the things I’ve said to you, then I would be hanged already.”

“Ashton, you’re my family. That’s different.”

“It’s really not. You’ve too high of morals to make an exception for family. It would be an unfair judgement on your part. Besides, our family is full of liars. We betray each other all the time. Luke, you could have me executed in a heartbeat if you so desired.”

“Don’t speak of such things. I love you; I would never even think to see you hanged.”

“I love you too,” Ashton said with a slight sigh Michael didn’t quite understand. “Now, Michael, I’ll watch over Calum. You need rest, and with present company, here isn’t the best of places to stay.”

“Ashton, I’m greatly indebted to you. Thank you for your help,” Michael thanked honestly, nodding slightly to Ashton.

“You’re very welcome, Micha– Oh, thank you, ma’am,” Ashton said, addressing a servant woman who had brought a bowl of steaming broth, seeming slightly surprised. He looked to Luke who affirmed that he had requested it. “Luke, please take Michael to somewhere he might stay for the meanwhile.”

Luke smiled at Ashton before taking Michael by the elbow and leading him from Ashton’s brightly lit room into the dim hallway. They walked a bit away from the door before Luke began to speak.

“It’s hard to believe that _I’m_ the king sometimes. Ashton sounds more authoritative than I ever do. I suppose his few years over me give him greater insight.”

“But he’s exceptionally kind. It’s as if he’s looking to help ease your burden by making simple decisions for you.”

“I honestly appreciate it. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend in the chaos that is my family. He can go from not caring in the slightest to helping me with every tiny thing,” Luke said fondly, turning around a corner to lead them to a set of double doors that marked the hallway’s end.

“What room is this?” Michael enquired, it’s location distanced from the more populated center of the castle.

“Mine,” Luke answered as he pushed open the doors. “There’s another bed in a separate section of the room. It’s almost like a small house on its own. I just know that from experience sleeping in this castle isolated from everyone is not conducive of great rest.”

“I cannot thank you enough for everything,” Michael reiterated, stepping into the room after Luke.

“You’re welcome, Michael. I can tell that you’re more than deserving of this assistance.”

“Honestly,” Michael said, looking up at Luke with a warmth in his eyes. “I’m eternally thankful, Luke.”

“You’re welcome, Mikey,” Luke murmured with a sleepy smile on his face.

It was a small change in their dynamic throughout the day, but it seemed to mean the world to Luke. To Michael as well. Luke was no longer his superior, someone to be danced around. He was no longer ranking above the others, no longer the ruler. They had become equals, filling Michael’s heart with appreciation and warmth. He had trust in Luke that he had never given to others before.

“Goodnight, Luke,” Michael muttered, moving into the other section of the room to sleep. He stretched slightly, turning around to focus on Luke.

“Goodnight, Michael,” Luke replied, the smallest of smiles forming on his face once more.

With that Michael quietly pressed the doors of his own room shut, slipping into bed with many worries eased from his mind. He fell into sleep peacefully, perhaps for the first time in his life. He could but hope for more days like such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ardens Anguis" is translated from Latin to mean "Flaming Lizard." I tried for flaming dragon, but if anyone tried the translation online it would say flaming lizard, so I went with it.
> 
> [Here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/141070064166/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) is an edit for the chapter!!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos! It means a lot to know people like what I've written :)
> 
> If you want you can check out my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com)


	2. i follow the moon when i can't trust the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _there is a wind blowing in my heart_  
>  _and with my eyes i cannot see my way out of the dark_  
>  -[Heaven is Hell by SayWeCanFly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4pWqMjDflA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said that I would wait to post more chapters but [esieternity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/esieternity/pseuds/esieternity) and [pilotmikey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pilotmikey/pseuds/pilotmikey) encouraged me, so I really couldn't wait to update.

As he opened his eyes Michael was met with light dancing across the cream colored silk beneath him. The array of colors waltzed across the fabric, moving to an andante beat as the sunlight slipped around the branches of a swaying tree and filtered in through a stained glass window. Beams of light made the quaint room blossom with distorted images of tightly interwoven blues and violets. The beige walls looked as though they were painted with an impressionistic field of flowers. The morning was bright and cheerful, birds flitting across leaves and new buds singing a melody that eased Michael’s waking.

He curled his toes, feet sliding across the soft sheets smoothed over the mattress, his arms reaching above him as he stretched the weariness from his body. The blankets covering him billowed as his contorted knees rose up and let a breeze slip between them. He filled his chest with the cool morning air and pulled his muscles taught before collapsing back down into the cushion with a slight exhale. Michael’s body felt like it was sinking into the mattress, his tense muscles and joints feeling more relaxed than they did.

He crossed his wrists above his head, careful to avoid the dressings still tied taught across his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut once more. Michael reveled in such peacefulness, feeling as though he was resting afloat in the sky, birds drifting about him whilst the sun bathed him in a halo of its warm light.

Never before had Michael felt so content upon waking, relaxation seeping throughout his being. The prior day’s events were flitting around in his mind like the birds beyond his window. He knew of the days to come – the stress of his task and the hardships to come with it – but all that was enveloping Michael in that moment was the ethereal morning. Michael could but dream of such mornings to come again, wishing to never return to the dusty floor he had called a bed the previous night.

After slipping into thought for some time, Michael eventually sat up and slid from the soft mattress, his eyes following the tree’s shaded and obscured image as it passed like a shadow in front of the window. His bare feet hit the cooled stone of the floor, brisk like a spring morning rather than frigid like a new snow, waking Michael up slightly, but not irritably so.

He felt uncertain as to what to do with himself after having woken up. Michael thought that perhaps Luke or someone occupied in the castle would come to wake him, but it appeared as though the day had only just broken. He was considering whether he should wait until others woke or venture from the room.

Michael’s gaze swept the room, passing from the window and over the bed’s sturdy wooden frame to the small wardrobe pushed against the wall. It was sparsely decorated, the main focal point being the oaken bed intricately engraved on its headboard and footboard. There was little to occupy Michael in the small room, however. His eyes then fell to rest upon the set of double doors that led into the portion of the room Luke was staying in. Michael stood rooted to his spot for a brief moment before gingerly pushing open the doors and padding across the stone into the lager part of the room.

Michael quickly saw a four poster bed with sheer curtains drawn haphazardly around it standing directly in front of where Michael was. He could see Luke’s frame curled on its side, the blanket pulled up to rest just below his ear while his arms wrapped tightly around him to hug it into his chest. Despite his broad frame and long legs, Luke looked small bunched up near the bed’s right edge.

Hesitantly, Michael pulled his eyes from Luke and took in the appearance of the king’s room; now that it was bathed in the soft morning light he could make out all that was in it. Along the wall to his right two grand mirrors with shutters drawn across them were symmetrical, little slits of light slipping between the spaces in the wood to create a striped design over the floor. A small door was centered between the windows, leading out to what Michael supposed might be a balcony.

Over the floor there was a simple sitting area near him, lavishly made couches set up at an angle to each other with a table between them. Behind the furthest couch was an empty table save for a single platter and a spread of a few pieces of parchment. It seemed to double as a desk and a dining table, likely from the king eating an impromptu dinner whilst working.

Michael feared lingering while the king was still sleeping, quickly deciding to make his way across the room towards the balcony. Once his hand reached for the door’s latch, Michael heard stirring from behind him and ceased moving. Michael felt that he was tiptoeing around the king’s room without any permission, and the fear of being caught overwhelmed him.

“Michael,” Luke’s sleepy yet amused voice muttered, rough and deepened from lack of use. “I would take no offense if you elected to wake me up. Although, if you still wish to make haste and sneak out to the balcony alone, I’d be quite contented to slip back into my dreams for a short while longer.”

Michael turned around and saw Luke unmoved, a small smile stretching across his tired face with his eyes still shut against the brightness of the fast approaching day. He looked well rested, hair falling flat across his forehead and cheeks tinted pink from warmth, but still having been graced with enough sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Michael muttered softly, feeling sheepish about walking around.

“Don’t be,” Luke chastised kindly, opening his eyes to look at Michael. “I needed to rise for the day anyway. This just made for a more pleasant awakening than someone working around the castle tentatively shaking me awake. Or better yet, Ashton’s rather chaotic attempts to wake me. He would end up launching himself on top of me. No consideration if he lands on my face. Ashton’s a rowdy one.”

“I had risen but saw you were still asleep,” Michael rushed, attempting to justify his decision, although his words came out as if they were tripping over one another. “I thought sitting outside until you woke would be the best idea but–”

“Michael, calm yourself,” Luke said with a laugh, shifting himself so he was sitting at the edge of the bed, his blanket slipping down his bare chest to settle around his waist. Michael averted his gaze, fighting a flush from his face. It seemed that Luke noticed. “I admire your respect for my privacy, but I hardly fathom myself a king, let alone one bound by such strict confines of adhering to such social conventions.”

Luke slipped from his bed, the legs of his trousers falling to his ankles before he hopped to tug on woolen socks. Michael decided that Luke had a stern title yet was softened around the edges. Meanwhile, Luke quickly padded across the floor to look out into the hallway, holding a fleeting conversation that Michael couldn’t hear before returning. Luke hesitantly took Michael’s hand with his own cold one and led Michael out through the small door splitting the windows and out onto the balcony.

Luke brought Michael to just before the edge where a stone railing cut off the small balcony, pausing momentarily before letting Michael’s hand fall to his side. A breeze warmed by the sun slipped across his skin, the warmth meeting the spring’s chill to create a layer of greying clouds in the sky. From the balcony Michael could see the entire reach of Luke’s kingdom. He stepped even closer to the edge to press his torso flush against the waist high stone.

He saw the high built wall encircling the land, offering protection to the cottages cluttered inside its bounds. Michael could trace the paths of the crooked streets as they twisted about, the view obscured by small wisps of grey smoke dissipating in the air from the kingdom’s blacksmiths’ ever burning fires. Even his and Calum’s small wattle and daub cottage could be seen from such a high vantage point. All of the people walking around underneath him appeared exceptionally small.

Beyond the reaches of the king’s wall were a number of farms hugging close to his kingdom’s protections, lining the horse tread path that led to the front gates. Fields of crops striped the landscape with their expansive rows.

Looking out to the horizon, though, an expanse of greens led to mix with the sky. The grasses and fields of corn and wheat that surrounded the kingdom were interrupted with the dark colors of a forest, both of which were freckled with the blue from the lakes. The view looked like an abstract conglomeration of calming colors. Michael wished he could explore and experience the beauty of life so distanced from where he had spent the entirety of his twenty-one years of life.

“It’s so peaceful up here, is it not?” Luke inquired rhetorically, stepping to stand on Michael’s left. He bent at the waist to rest his elbows lightly upon the edge of the stone. “I love how vast the view is. I can see the entirety of my kingdom from here. It helps remind me that there is more than just the confines of these castle walls. There’s so much life and things yet to be experienced. I can see everyone working so desperately hard below me. Everything I do is to better their lives, and this never lets me forget.”

“You speak so profoundly,” Michael commented, looking towards Luke. He watched the way Luke’s hair danced across his forehead from a breeze, still flat and fallen from sleep. “Less in the formal way of a king, but with literary substance.”

“Is it really that surprising that there’s substance to what I say?” Luke asked, his voice amused as a smile played across his lips. He seemed to enjoy teasing Michael, eyes lighting up as Michael embarrassedly planned a vain attempt to elaborate his meaning. “It’s difficult for a prince to dream of being a bard when fate and lineage says he’s to be the next king.”

“A bard?” Michael laughed suddenly, unable to quiet himself. “Will you sing lullabies for Ashton? Or do you simply scribe poems to commemorate him?”

“You hold your tongue!” Luke said amidst a peal of laughter. His eyes scrunched together while he covered his open mouth with his hands. Michael found his genuine laugh to be endearing. “Of all people you choose Ashton? Those would hardly be flattering!”

“Your hair furls like my toes upon laying eyes on you,” Michael offered, his sentence jagged as it was interrupted with giggling. He was nearly doubled over from amusement, but he seemed to be faring better than Luke, who had taken to gripping Michael’s arm in support.

“Your eyes,” Luke started with a soberness he could barely maintain, brandishing his free arm for dramatization, “are the essence of the putrid swamps outlining the forest off yonder.”

“The essence of the swamps,” Michael repeated, his voice growing higher in pitch. He looked up at Luke through the tears clouding his eyes. He couldn’t recall ever laughing that much before, and from the way Luke was reacting, Michael surmised it was the same for Luke as well.

“Everyone swoons upon seeing you,” Luke said, continuing, his laughter dying down to a more collected clamor. “because you reek of the stables.”

Michael didn’t bother fighting down the onslaught of laughter rising from his chest.

“This makes for quite the waking up,” Luke said, struggling to let his laughter quell, voice breathy. “I love Ashton dearly, but his being the object of our amusement is rather wonderful. I might not maintain a composed visage next time I see him, though. Poor Ashton will be quite confused.”

“Nor shall I,” Michael agreed, his breathing settling into its normal rhythm once more, heart still beating faster than it had been. “I’ll feel rather terribly for laughing after knowing him for such a short while.”

“Ashton might very well just join in to humor us, but that is a bridge to be crossed later. Now I suggest we have breakfast and tend to other trivial tasks before we get too ahead of ourselves.”

“Trivial tasks?” Michael enquired, slightly more concerned than he figured he should have been. He trusted Luke, but such a brushed off concept gave rise to worry.

“After breakfast I recommend that you bathe, of no insult to you; it seems it would bring you greater comfort should you do so. Then we should find clothes that might suit you better than those you’re currently wearing and redress your wound. I can’t have the savior of this kingdom falling victim to disease or frostbite,” Luke explained, gently smoothing over any statements that could cause offense.

Michael agreed wholeheartedly, though, picking up on the king’s concerned tone. It was more a matter of tending well to Michael’s needs than insulting the result of his lowly lifestyle. Besides, if anyone reeked of the stables it was Michael.

“That should make for quite the productive day,” Michael agreed, desperate for something to occupy any idleness that might confront him. He was used to long days and even his waking up later than usual was unsettling to him. It seemed like the sunlight was wasted.

“Come sit,” Luke said after a moment, pulling Michael from his thoughts. His head followed Luke’s voice and saw him sat at the end of a small table off to the right of the balcony, arm sweeping to gesture to the chair across from him. “I suspect breakfast will be here shortly.”

Michael wordlessly sat down, the table far too small for more than two people to sit around comfortably; he figured that Luke ate at the table alone more often than not. It offered little room underneath for legs and little surface space on top for any grandiose meal. Michael’s feet brushed against the wool of Luke’s socks, so he quickly pulled them back to tuck under his chair – it had already been a rather embarrassing morning on Michael’s part. A flush filled his face, but Michael started at the grain of the table as though admiring its abstract design.

“It’s a rather nice piece, isn’t it?” Luke inquired rhetorically, noticing Michael staring at the table. “It came from a lovely oak tree, felled of its own accord – I couldn’t very well cherish a table made from a tree who has its life so rudely torn from it. I recently had it stained again, weather always being so harsh; it’s fairly plain but I’m quite fond of–”

“Luke,” Michael interrupted, looking up to the king pointedly.

“Michael,” Luke mimicked, a pleased smile on his face. He leaned forward on his elbows, shoulders rounding forward as he waited intently for whatever Michael had to say. His eyes were wide and bright, ever filled with amusement.

“I– Why did you start a conversation about furniture, of all things?”

“You clearly had taken a liking to admiring it, so I figured I’d tell you more about it,” Luke explained innocently as if it was commonplace. The look on Luke’s face seemed to show that he knew exactly why Michael had averted his gaze in the first place. If Michael’s cheeks flushed pink before, they grew even more vibrant now.

“Your face is tinting,” Luke commented, leaning forward over the table to put the back of his hand against Michael’s cheekbone to see his temperature. He knew full well he was embarrassing Michael, and his voice hardly restrained the laugh trying to surface. “Perhaps we ought to go inside.”

“Must you continue your teasing?” Michael exclaimed, not angry, per se, but more mortified than he was when the king first woke. “Oh, hush your laughter. Do you know how tentatively I must approach you about everything? You’re the king, Luke! You could off both my and Calum’s head if you so desired. I can’t very well do anything to offend you.”

Luke’s amusement fell short, realizing the extent of Michael’s concerns. The brightness in his eyes dulled, looking significantly more reserved. “Michael,” Luke began, his voice growing as soft as the rest of him.

His further statement was momentarily cut off by a young woman hesitantly making her way onto the balcony. Her tawny hair fell to hide her face, kind eyes downcast as if she was interrupting. She carried a tray of food which she placed at the center of the table before scuttling away. Luke’s earnest “thank you” dissipated in the air behind the already closed door.

“Michael,” Luke restarted, visage filled with warmth and desperation. “Please believe me when I tell you this: I could never find offence in what you do or say. You could very well advocate anarchy and the ruins of the establishment I’m trying to maintain, and, though saddened, I would do nothing to counteract your advances. There’s no need to skirt around me like I’m some formidable being, for I’m certain you know by now I’m no such thing. I don’t ridicule Ashton so openly with anyone, let alone request that they also reside in my chambers. Should there ever be a line drawn, you’ve yet to cross it.”

Michael was taken aback by Luke’s openness, all words abandoning him. As much as he wished to express his gratitude at Luke’s statement, express how overwhelmed he was. He wished he could tell Luke the extent of how accepted he felt, that Luke’s kindness brought warmth to his soul. But he couldn’t. Michael couldn’t fathom any way to voice his thoughts. After a moment of Michael looking wide eyed and slightly frightened, a reassuring smile eased its way onto Luke’s face.

“Cease your looking so afraid!” Luke exclaimed exaggeratedly, brandishing his arms wildly in hope of easing Michael’s dismay. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. I can assure you, those are only in the north wing of the castle, and come to think of it, I don’t know if I’ve ever laid eyes upon one. I used to sneak off to find them, you see, but I think I was far too caught up in the ghost stories to realize that the closest thing I found to one was linens hung to dry.”

“No, no! It’s not that!” Michael hastily interjected, the lightness of the conversation returning. “I just hadn’t the words to thank you, but didn’t want to seem haughty. It was my own inability to maintain a conversation than anything else.”

“I’m flattered by any gratitude, even if you find difficulty in expressing it,” Luke smiled, reaching towards the center of the table for a piece of bread.

Michael paused a moment, staring absently at something out of focus before speaking again. “Did you really seek out ghosts?”

“Oh, eat your food!” Luke said, throwing crumbs from his bread’s crust towards Michael’s face. “Perhaps if your mouth is filled with breakfast you won’t be asking such inane questions.”

A dramatic gasp seized Michael, drawing Luke’s attention. “Don’t tell me. You commemorated your poems and songs not to Ashton’s _obvious_ beauty, but rather these ghosts. Lyrical ballads for ghosts you never saw!”

“Michael,” Luke shrieked, proceeding to hit Michael’s forehead with a grape.

“Luke,” Michael replied, throwing a grape back. He was rather fond of being on the giving end of their teasing, amused by Luke’s abandonment of maturity. After a moment of Luke glowering at him, Michael let out a world-weary sigh. “Oh fine, I’ll stop. Just know you were the one who instigated such a continuance of ridicule.”

“Yes, yes,” Luke said, rolling his eyes fondly. “I’m the only one at fault.”

“Well you are,” Michael muttered quietly, looking down at the expanse of options set on the table before him. He found an array of fresh fruits, well prepared meats, and thinly sliced bread, as well as small pots of jam and honey. Although it wasn’t an overwhelming meal provided by kingly standards, it was certainly more food than Michael might eat in a week – especially with a greater quality than what he could afford to purchase; his meager supply of barley bread and salted meats hardly compared to what Luke offered him.

Michael decided to opt for a slice of bread and a handful of strawberries, finding safety in such a familiar choice, carefully setting the small serving on his plate. His bread was light in color, less coarse than the heavy grains baked into the bread he could buy from his village’s baker. Michael couldn’t say he was surprised by the prestige of the food Luke offered, but experiencing it gave rise to an understand of how big the rift between his life and Luke’s truly was.

After a passing of time, Michael ceased eating, taking to admiring the view instead. The blue-grey clouds continued to drift in from the west, the sun slowly rising to meet the clouds in the sky whilst the earth below grew dimmer. Near the horizon, dark clouds streaked and blurred as rain fell south of the king’s land. Michael anticipated a storm fast approaching, the birds flitting about in the growing winds in seek of shelter indicating as such.

Eventually Michael felt Luke’s gaze resting on him, turning back to meet it. In the dimming light Luke’s eyes fell to a paled blue, his fringe drifting across his forehead as the wind caught it. Michael raised his eyebrows, cueing Luke to say what was on his mind.

“Michael, you hardly ate,” Luke murmured, voice nearly slipping into the breeze. He sounded just as concerned as he looked.

“Luke, you’ve offered more food than what I would have seen in a week. I fear I might be ill should I not be conscientious of that. I’d rather be safe in this instance. Thank you for all that you’ve provided, though,” Michael said, his attempt at continuing cut off by a deep sound resonating from the sky.

Fear temporarily struck through Michael’s heart, glancing to the sky as he hoped dearly that _Ardens Anguis_ was not circling above the kingdom. White light flickered throughout the expanse of dark clouds with another reverberation of sound echoing around. Relief quickly flooded his system.

Sensing Michael’s dismay, Luke stood up and tugged Michael from his chair, pushing him towards the door. Luke looked sternly at Michael as if commanding him to just go inside before he hastily started gather the leftovers from their breakfast onto the platter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Michael muttered to himself, going over to offer his help to Luke. It was only fair that since the kind woman brought them food, they were responsible for cleaning it up.

Neither of them quite made it back into Luke’s room before the heavens opened and their onslaught of rain poured down. The tray managed to pass mostly unscathed, but Luke and Michael were pelted with the torrent of chilly raindrops.

Luke set the tray down on the closest table inside, not paying much mind to putting it away at the moment. His hair was running down past his eyes, dripping water down the tip of his nose and over his mouth. He brushed the water from his face and pushed his fringe back from his forehead, running his fingers through it so it was disheveled and stuck up at random.

He then stepped over to Michael who remained standing near the door they had reentered from, trying to contain the water dripping to the floor in a consolidated puddle. Luke reached up and brushed Michael’s hair back from his forehead for him, hands colder than the rain. A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest.

“I was going to suggest that you bathe a little while later, but it seems the heavens had other intentions,” Luke commented, rather amused, pulling a slight smile from Michael. Luke’s own smile fell upon seeing Michael trying to restrain his shivering. “But now’s as good a time as any, I suppose. It should also help you warm up.”

Luke left Michael to stand in his growing puddle momentarily while he walked towards his four poster bed, reaching across it to pull a grey colored blanket from amidst the other beddings. He then quickly padded back to Michael, his soaked socks leaving small ovals of water on the floor. Luke carefully wrapped the soft blanket around Michael’s shoulders.

Michael gripped parallel edges of the blanket and hugged it taught around his body, relishing in the warmth it started to provide. He wordlessly offered his thanks to Luke, electing to smile slightly. Michael’s day had been exceptionally eventful and the sun hadn’t yet peaked in the sky.

They then exited from Luke’s room and passed through various corridors, Michael trailing slightly behind Luke. He watched as Luke led the way, his socks still leaving prints on the floor, wondering if it was irritating to keep them on. Michael found Luke to be rather quirky at times.

The few people that skirted past the two with hastily bowed heads had confused looks pass across their faces but remained silent. Michael could understand why. He, too, would be greatly concerned to see his king and a peasant both dripping with water as they walked throughout the halls. Their various states of dress must have been the instigator of even more confusion. Michael didn’t wish to know what they supposed had happened.

Eventually Luke turned down a short hallway that was abruptly cut off by a door. Michael wasn’t sure what part of the castle they were in, but it seemed rather isolated for being in such close proximity to the king’s chambers. He would have expected more passersby.

Upon entering through the simple door, Michael was met with a room that seemed bigger than its quaintness would suggest. A row of small windows lined the wall opposite the door, positioned near the ceiling to prevent any onlookers view of the room’ interior. Michael could hear the rain pattering softly away at the castle’s exterior walls, echoing on the window panes.

At Michael’s left was a small row of shelves filled with linens and folded towels, all lined up neatly in small stacks. At the far end of each shelf there appeared to be tightly woven baskets stacked up to obscure the view of a small chair pushed into the corner.

Centered in the room, however, was a large wooden tub filled just under the brim with steaming water, various herbs and petals floating on the surface. A scent of spring blossoms rose into the air with the water’s steam. A small pewter jug filled with clean water rested off to the side of the tub.

“Luke,” Michael began, taken aback with the extensive details put into such a thing as bathing. He fully expected a basin of lukewarm water and a washrag at best. Michael would never complain, but was exceptionally surprised by the gesture.

“Michael,” Luke had said at the same time, cutting off the rest of his sentence upon hearing Michael’s voice. He looked up to Michael with wide eyes. “Go ahead.”

“Luke, this is–”

“Nonnegotiable,” Luke finished, anticipating Michael’s dissent. “I find no need to justify myself, and I won’t hesitate to employ my kingly power over you should I need to. You’re a gentle soul and you’re doing such an important task for me; all of this is a compilation of me trying to thank you.”

A fond smile filled Michael’s face as he spoke with slight disbelief. “Alright.”

“Come here,” Luke murmured with a soft voice, beckoning Michael over with the slightest movement of his hand. Michael stepped towards Luke, standing at such a distance that they could still maintain a conversation. After a moment Luke bright his hand tentatively towards Michael’s cheek where the bandages started falling limp across his wound.

“Fuck me,” Michael exclaimed abruptly, recoiling back once Luke’s fingers brushed across his cheekbones. It felt like Luke had ice flowing through his veins. Upon realizing what he said, Michael felt an embarrassed blush pass across his cheeks. It seemed only Luke could cause him to blush so frequently in a day.

“Fuck, Michael,” Luke replied, the peculiar yet amused look on his face causing Michael to wish he could better read expressions. Luke seemed to know his own foul language would draw from Michael’s fright at speaking poorly. “You startled me nearly as much as I startled you.”

“Your fingers are as icy as a harsh winter!” Michael said, his concern for Luke’s wellbeing flooding his voice. “How was I to do anything _but_ exclaim as such?”

“I often forget that others aren’t quite as used to such cold fingers,” Luke muttered absentmindedly, glancing down at his hands where he held them clasped together. “If I tell you I’m going to be touching your cheek, will you be better prepared this time?”

“This time,” Michael agreed before Luke tried to make quick work of untying the knot he used to bind the dressings tightly. Once the knot was undone, Luke unwound the long strip of linen from around Michael’s head.

While Luke worked Michael noted how he pulled his ebony ring between his teeth with focus and his eyebrows grew closer together. He looked so incredibly young with his face smoothed from worry. Not shortly after Michael’s thoughts, the cloth was no longer bound across Michael’s cheekbone. Upon exposure to the air, his wound began to sting.

“Once you’ve finished bathing I’ll redress it,” Luke said, his fingertips carefully coaxing Michael to turn his head so Luke could inspect the cut. “It’s grown pink and slightly glossy from healing, but seems rather clean compared to most wounds I’ve dressed. I can’t very well have you go off and fight just to fall victim of disease.”

“Thank you for your utmost concern over my wellbeing,” Michael said genuinely. His cheek burned more from the touch of Luke’s fingers than the graze of the air.

“You’re welcome,” Luke smiled, absentmindedly glancing about the room. “Stay here for a moment while I bring trousers and a tunic for you to change into once you’re done. You can grab towels whilst you’re waiting.”

Luke then excused himself from the small room and shut the door quietly behind him. After standing motionless for a moment, Michael walked to the few shelves of towels and pulled a stack down. The cloth was made of a soft cotton, already wicking away the beads of water still falling down Michael’s arms.

Shivering, Michael let Luke’s blanket fall from his shoulders and into a heap on the floor before pulling off his soaked tunic. The damp material clung to his skin, but eventually his bare skin became exposed to the air. He set the saturated fabric on the floor next to the blanket and tugged a towel around his shoulders and torso. The warmth was already significantly better than what the damp blanket provided.

The small chamber had grown warm, a cloud of steam still rising from the bath as though the water had been heated by dragon fires. He knelt down and dipped his fingers just below the surface, the water spreading warmth throughout his cold being. The scent of a spring morning surrounded him, his fingers trailing across the water as the herbs and petals swirled around like galaxies.

The soft click of the door drew Michael’s gaze. Luke quietly entered, a bundle of cloth in his hands. He made his way directly to the small chair propped in the corner to set all save for two things he carried on the seat.

“I hadn’t any idea what would fit you, so I grabbed a variety of clothes– Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have knocked.” Luke interrupted himself once he looked to see Michael’s tunic on the floor and a towel wrapped around his bare shoulders. He quickly averted his eyes for modesty’s sake.

“It’s alright. I still have trousers on; I just couldn’t be bothered with a soaked tunic any longer,” Michael said softly, pulling the towel tighter around him regardless.

“Of course, right,” Luke rushed, a pink tinting his cheeks. “I set the clothes on the chair in the corner. I also brought you a sponge and a bar of soap. Once you’re done you can make you way back to my chamber and I’ll redress your wound. Afterwards we can have either an exceptionally late dinner or a somewhat early supper.”

With that, Luke exited from the room. Michael then quickly stripped from the rest of his wet clothes, desperate to warm up. He slowly sank himself into the wooden tub, his soap, sponge, towels, and pewter jug filled with cool clean water all within an arm’s reach. The water wrapped around his body, the level rising nearly to the rim of the tub once he was submerged to his shoulders.

Michael hadn’t bathed in an embarrassingly long time, of no fault of his own. He had never been able to afford the means to heat up water, and bathing in cold water was a poor idea should there be even the slightest of chills. There was no doubt in Michael’s mind that a layer of filth and grime was coating him.

Michael settled into the warmth, the room growing darker with the sky and the pattering rain lulling him. His eyes slipped shut, reveling in the peacefulness he was experiencing. Michael was exceptionally grateful for Luke’s offer – his stress on Michael being well care for. Michael knew that Luke claimed it was so that the kingdom’s savior, as he so grandiosely put it, wouldn’t fall victim to any other calamities before his going to fight the dragon, but Michael was flattered nevertheless. He was being cared for, despite the apparent ulterior motives.

If Michael was being honest with himself, he was more grateful for Luke. He was _exceptionally_ grateful for Luke.

There was a softness that smoothed over Luke’s edges when he spoke to Michael. Even in the brief time spent with the king, Michael still found great difference in the juxtaposition between how Luke approached whomever he was with – the commanding demeanor he held around the nobles, the kindness with which he talks to his servants, the boyishness he had with Ashton – but with Michael all of his features grow so incredibly soft. It’s as if the harshness and stresses from such a demanding position dissipated into comfort.

Michael wondered why. Why Luke seemed so genuinely happy, as if he was experiencing who he truly was for the first time, his personality unabashed and open. His eyes grew crinkled, their blues brightening like a summer sky, and his smile eased across his face naturally. Luke glowed so brilliantly when he was embodying who he was.

Luke was like the laziness accompanying a summer day, sweet like honey, so filled with warmth and peace. When Michael was with Luke it felt like every pain in the world faded away, lost in the cloudless skies. Luke emanated such beauty, and Michael could but hope that it would be something he could experience longer. Even for a fleeting moment, as fleeting as perfect summer afternoons.

To Michael, Luke had a kindhearted soul. As a king, he wanted to take care of everyone, regardless of their place in the world. Luke was fair, caring, and selfless. He took hold of Michael’s life and made it infinitely better in a matter of moments. Michael had been drowning in muddled water, and Luke pulled him to shore. Luke gave him a chance, an opportunity, and a promise of help Michael so greatly needed.

He was living in the dark and finally found the moon to light his way to safety.

Michael immediately cut his thoughts off, eyes opening to distract him. He dipped his head under the water of the bath as thought it would cease all of the concepts speaking so loudly in his mind. Time was of the essence in Michael’s life, and dwelling on such futility would hardly further Michael’s successes. With a heavy sigh he reached for the soap and sponge on the floor, the cool air touching his arm sobering him.

The white castile soap was gentle as he ran it across his skin, as opposed to the ashen tallow soap he could still hardly afford. He made quick work of scrubbing the dirt from his skin, the water growing darker in color as he nearly rubbed his skin raw; the sponge served well in removing all the dirt. Eventually, once he thought he had gotten off all the soot and dust nearly caked to his skin, Michael took the pewter jug from the floor. He stood up and poured the clean water over his head, letting it rinse his skin as best as it could, removing the now dirty water from the bath that was coating him.

He stepped to the cold floor tentatively, trying to keep his wet feet from slipping on the smooth stone. He carefully set the jug, soap, and sponge off to the side of the tub before picking up a clean towel to wrap around his shoulders. Once he acclimated to the cool air of the room, Michael pulled the towel across his skin to brush off the remaining water. He then rubbed it over his head in a vain attempt to dry his hair.

Dropping the towel to the floor, Michael glanced over towards the clothes Luke had brought for him, finding a simple pair of black trousers at the bottom of the pile propped up on the small wooden chair. After pulling them on, Michael leafed through the various tunics, settling on a matching black one with a rich blue thread embroidered into a stripe that outlined the neck and followed down the line of his shoulders. The fabric was soft and fit well, giving Michael reason to thank Luke immensely once he next saw him.

Michael busied himself, quickly tidying up the room, unsure of how to take care of the small mess he made. He folded all of his used towels and the other clothes strewn about the floor, placing everything in a small pile near the pewter jug. He surveyed his surroundings once more, deeming it well enough cleaned before quietly slipping into the hallway.

There was no cause for Michael’s sneaking about, yet he felt as if he was some unwelcome presence in the castle, though he knew full well he was not. The level of trust put into him – so much so that he was given free range of the castle’s entirety – grew slightly unnerving once he realized its extent. He didn’t want to cross any lines since Luke’s guard had begun to fall.

After a short time of roaming, Michael found himself lost in the hallways of the castle. He was in a corridor lined with various paintings and portraits. He started taking to admiring a dull colored tapestry of what appeared to be a pure white unicorn laying in an enclosed part of a field of flowers when he saw a figure skirt past him. Looking up, Michael saw the same young woman who had brought him breakfast.

“Excuse me,” Michael said softly, looking towards the woman. She looked up, wide eyed. “Do you, by any chance, know how I can find King Luke’s chambers from here? I seem to have gotten very lost.”

“Follow me,” she said, voice light and quiet. She turned on her heel and walked back the way Michael had come.

“Do you mind my asking your name?” Michael inquired after a moment, following her blindly throughout the mazelike halls. He must have taken several wrong turns earlier, but each hallway looked the same as the previous.

“Enid,” she said, turning around to smile at Michael. “And yours?”

“Michael.”

“Ah, I’ve heard the king mention your name in conversation recently,” Enid commented, her polite conversation peaking Michael’s interest. He was curious as to why Luke would talk about him. “He seems quite struck by you.”

“I’m not sure I’m following your meaning,” Michael admitted, somewhat confused.

“I don’t think the king knows either,” Enid offered, a knowing smile falling lost to Michael. “King Luke’s chambers are at the end of the hall.”

Before Michael could enquire any further, Enid slipped down a hallway Michael hadn’t known existed moments prior, leaving him quite confused by his fleeting conversation with Enid. He supposed that it would be best to temporarily disregard what she said than to dwell on it. Perhaps he could inquire about it should he see her again.

Michael let himself into Luke’s room, looking about in search of Luke; a darkness had fallen over it while the thunderstorm persisted. Eventually Michael found Luke’s figure silhouetted against the window, illuminated only by the soft light emanating from the fireplace. Hesitating a moment, Michael walked towards him.

Upon reaching Luke, Michael, too, looked out at the expanse of the landscape growing sodden, everything a shade of navy blue dotted with the yellows of fires. The sound of rain hitting the castle and its windows enveloped them, creating a peace that couldn’t yet be disturbed. Michael felt Luke’s gaze shift from the vast outside to his face, turning to look at Luke.

“You look like an angel,” Luke whispered, so as not to interrupt the quiet of the room. His shadow hidden face grew minutely darker with a blush, but he didn’t take back his statement.

“So do you,” Michael replied after a moment, glancing up to Luke with wide eyes. He was so frightened to break the fragile peace that hung in the air.

“Your skin is so fair now. You look like you’re made of stars,” Luke murmured, almost to himself. “It’s like you’re light filling this darkness.”

“I don’t think I’m the light filling this darkness,” Michael muttered inaudibly, his eyes flickering to Luke’s face to reaffirm that the king didn’t hear what he said.

“Do you know what the saddest part of storming is?” Luke asked, somewhat rhetorically, his gaze falling once again to the window. It looked as though teardrops were slipping down the pane. “it’s that the moon disappears behind the clouds.”

“I’m falling in love with the moon,” Michael admitted softly. “Nearly every day I see the moon anew and it’s even more beautiful than it was the day prior. And sometimes it does disappear into the sky, but I know that whenever I see it again I’ll love it even more.”

Michael looked at Luke, a tentativeness in his gaze. Luke seemed awed by what Michael had said, his lips tipping up into a smile. He looked so small bathed in such pale light.

“And you thought I was a bard,” Luke laughed, finding neither fault nor addition to be made in regards to Michael’s admission. He seemed greatly at ease.

“And you still are!” Michael affirmed, his eyes crinkling. “I’ll get you to sing lullabies yet!”

“I’ll have thrown from the tallest tower before I ever sing lullabies,” Luke said, amused laughter once again rising from his chest. “Now come and help me light candles. I’ve a wound in desperate need of my attention.”

“Only if I must,” Michael said with mock exasperation, taking hold of the splint Luke offered him.

Luke went to the fire smoldering in the fireplace and stoked it, urging it to grow into greater flames. After a short moment, the room grew fractionally lighter. Luke lit the tip of his splint on fire, Michael following suit, and they made quick work of going about the room to light the wicks of every candle.

Whilst Luke busied himself with preparing everything to dress the wound, Michael drew his burning splint throughout the air, waiting until the fire died. Glowing embers drifted from the end, floating lightly as their color lost life before sinking to the ground as grey ash.

“It looks like how it did when the city was burning,” Michael commented mostly to himself, his eyes following the embers’ paths as they fell to grey like the others. In his peripherals Michael saw Luke glance up.

“Don’t have such thoughts,” Luke chastised, although his voice was kind and empathetic. “You’ll prevent that from happening, Michael. I trust that you will. Cease your negativity and come hither.”

Michael made his way towards Luke, sitting in the wooden chair Luke gestured to. After a moment of being beckoned closer and shifting around, Michael sat quite rigidly, eyes fluttering closed as Luke spread an herbal salve across his cheek and bound a fresh strip of linen across it. Once Luke had finished, Michael looked towards him, seeking something he wasn’t entirely sure of.

“Perfect,” Luke murmured, glancing sparingly at his handiwork.

“Luke,” Michael said, voice soft and hesitant. “I will never be able to thank you enough for everything.”

“Mikey, you’ve already done so much for me, and you mightn’t even realize the extent of it. You’ve thanked me a thousand times over, but it is me who needs to thank you. I’ll be eternally grateful for you, Michael,” Luke said, his voice mumbling towards the end of his sentence.

Michael’s expression fell soft as he looked towards Luke, a fondness painted over him. Luke was looking up at the sky once more, the rain slowly quelling its torrent as the night sky grew calm. The clouds began to break, filtering in the broken beams from the newly rising moon. A quiet instilled over them as warmth surged through Michael’s heart. Maybe he was right; maybe he was falling in love with the moon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://www.sarahblankstudios.com/images/blog/061009_13.jpg) is the tapestry I was thinking Michael was looking at. If you go through my internet history you'll find so much research on medieval soaps and art....
> 
> [Here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/141070353881/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) is an edit made for this chapter if you want to check it out.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos! It means the world to know that people enjoy what I write :)
> 
> If you want to ask questions about this story or anything, really, please come visit my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com)!


	3. you stay awake because you don't want the shadow to catch you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _rest your weary soul_  
>  _don't be afraid of growing old_  
>  _with flowers on your chest_  
>  _i want you to know you did your best_  
>  -[Brother by SayWeCanFly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huCu8qx_T5g)

“Honestly, Mikey,” Luke whispered harshly, voice filling both with slight agitation and disbelief. He spun on the balls of his feet to face Michael, his hands placed carefully on his hips to further exemplify his mood. Luke’s stance was broad, his position in the center of the hallway filling its width, almost inviting Michael’s inevitable retaliation – Luke knew full well he would win in their petty argument. “Your own brother?”

“But what if–” Michael began to counter, his arms thrown about carelessly in question whilst his eyes widened with an anxiousness he knew he needn’t be feeling.

“Don’t ask of such fleeting things like happenstance and fate,” Luke said, soft but chastising as he relaxed his stance and approached Michael. He brought his arm out to smooth it over Michael’s back and direct him towards the wall, opening up the corridor for other to pass. “You’ll worry yourself into illness.”

“That’s exactly my predicament, Luke. I’m worrying,” Michael responded, a tone of desperation filling his concern laden voice. “What am I to do if Calum is displeased with me? I left him in the cottage alone and ill in pursuit of illogical opportunity that, by fate’s good grace, offered me this – offered me you. But I’ve still taking him from home unawares, making grave decisions without his thought on the matter. What if he resents me for my foolishness, Luke? How am I to face him then?”

“Michael,” Luke started, his face falling sympathetic. His eyes tinted with a sadness that Michael couldn’t begin to understand. There were times when Michael noticed Luke’s expression adopt such great emotion, yet could never surmise the reason. “We both know Calum would do no such thing. First and foremost, you’ve saved his life, Michael. You’ve given back the countless years that would have slipped from his grasp otherwise.”

“At the cost of my own,” Michael mumbled, eyes downcast. Michael knew Calum would love him despite whatever predicament he fell into, but he worried greatly that he would be displeased with Michael’s decision. It’s not easy to come to terms with something that could have such consequences as Michael’s quest.

“But I have faith in you, Michael, and Calum will too. He loves you dearly, and unconditional love can go quite a long way. I know you worry that you might not be well received by your proposition, but he _will_ understand.

“The only unhappiness he might have towards the matter is his own fear that he could very well lose you, but his trust in your abilities as a fighter will reassure him. Ashton and I will be here to reassure him too. And upon the day you march up to these castle walls, victorious, Calum will be elated. He won’t find fault in your selflessness nor your bravery. He will be proud of you, Mikey. He will be so incredibly proud of you. I promise.”

Luke looked at Michael, eyes searching his face for a sign that Michael believed the promise given to him. Sighing, Michael mulled over what Luke said. He and Calum had been as thick as thieves for longer than Michael could ever begin to remember; they were always there for one another, regardless of whatever happened. Despite all of their mishaps and misfortunes, they had never wavered from the other’s side.

Michael remembered back to a time when Calum had slipped into the river whilst washing their clothes, the currents quickening their pace from the spring rains, pulling him under the water’s surface before he could ever fathom what had happened to him. The river’s might was fierce, but Michael’s desire to save his brother was stronger than any force trying to take him. The trousers Calum had been rinsing fell lost to the river’s harsh flow, but both Michael and Calum ended up on the bank, soaked from head to toe but safe.

Not short after, when Michael was stoking the fires of a blacksmith’s forge and smoldering embers rose up to strike his face, it was Calum who helped quell the extent of his painful burns. Calum’s priorities mightn’t have suited the smith, who sent them out for their inadequate response to such a minor problem, but his attentiveness meant everything to Michael. They always stood firm by each other’s side, and Michael had no doubt that would be the case this time.

Luke nodded slightly towards Michael, inquiring as to whether he finally agreed. Michael returned the gesture with a small smile accompanying it. Luke’s reassurances never ceased to ease Michael’s unceasing worries.

“I believe you,” Michael affirmed, his soul growing more at peace. “Calum will understand, and if he doesn’t, he’ll come around eventually.”

“And you believe that my promise isn’t an empty one?” Luke wondered, the need for Michael’s trust apparent on his face.

“I’ve come to believe that your promises are never empty ones, Luke.”

“See! You’ve nothing to be bothered by, Mikey. Do your best not to worry about the hypotheticals, for they begin to grow closer and closer to reality in our minds as our dwelling perpetuates,” Luke stated, a knowing underlay to his statement. Michael wouldn’t push for an explanation as to why Luke would understand such a concept so well. “Besides, from what Ashton told me, Calum would much rather inquire after your exploration of the kitchens. He seems quite taken with the food Ashton’s brought for him. Knowing Ashton, he’s brought nothing but baked goods. How very dare he.”

“Baked goods?” Michael exclaimed with mock distress. “Oh, we must see Calum immediately, then. I’m fast losing my place as Calum’s favorite to Ashton, of all people. I can’t very well lose to the one who reeks of the stables! And over such a petty thing as sweet food, too!”

“Michael, I can’t go laugh at Ashton instantly upon entering his chambers! Don’t remind me of yesterday’s beguilements or I shan’t remain serious!”

“Ah, but it’s too late for that, Luke. I’ll recite the poorly written odes you penned about him. Or would you prefer that I remind you of the villanelles of the ghosts?” Michael inquired, a proud smirk filling his face. So long as he was well acquainted with Luke, Michael would never cease his jokes.

“Firstly, I never would have penned ‘poorly written odes,’ should I have been a bard over a king,” Luke said, feigned offence embodying him as a hand was placed on his chest.

“Of course,” Michael agreed, stifling his amusement. “Well, regardless of that, I suggest you don’t give up your kingdom in pursuit of such trifles as of yet.”

“And secondly,” Luke continued, as if Michael hadn’t interjected his opinion at all. “Don’t make me find grapes to throw at you again. I won’t hesitate to detour to the kitchens solely for the purpose of throwing grapes at you. Don’t tempt me, Michael; you know I would.”

“Oh, very well,” Michael sighed, shoulders slumping with the exaggerated nature of their conversation. “But _only_ to prevent you from wasting food in such difficult times as these. How dare you lay on such a heavy threat, Luke? I thought better of you. Think of the starved children who would be begging for such a grape.”

“You and your theatrics,” Luke trailed, the smile resting upon his face counteracting his rolling eyes. “Let us go see Calum now.”

“ _My_ theatrics?” Michael inquired more to himself than to Luke, voice filled with mirth as he fell in step with Luke.

They quickly passed through the hallways towards Ashton’s chamber, Michael’s surroundings becoming increasingly more familiar as they grew closer. Michael was surprised by just how easily it was to grow lost in the ever similar halls of the castle, the maze of turns and new corridors leading from one end of the castle to the other without any realization on his part. Perhaps it was why he grew so lost seeking Luke’s chambers the night before. He briefly recognized the hallway that housed the many paintings he’d taken to admiring the day prior.

“Why is the passage we just passed empty save for the art that lines it?” Michael wondered aloud, curiosity getting the better of him.

Luke glanced up to Michael, a pleased smile passing across his face as quickly as it left. “A tradition has passed throughout my ancestry that the king contributes to the art presented in that corridor. It fast became a glorified display of wealth and feigned interest in the arts. I mightn’t be a commissioned bard, but commissioned artists are highly sought after. It fast grows into a competition of who can gain works from the greatest artists. Nevertheless, the tradition persists.”

“What pieces have you contributed to it, if any?”

“There’s a series of seven tapestries, _The Hunt of the Unicorn_ , that I found quite becoming, so they’ve been hung along the walls. Some of the tapestries are rather barbaric in nature on the part of the men portrayed, but I was struck by the art itself. The series ends with the unicorn superseding those who seek its magic, and I was exceptionally pleased to see it prevail.”

Luke slowed his pace until he stopped, turning around to lean against the wall. They had finally reached Ashton’s chambers, yet Luke was waiting to enter for reasons unbeknownst to Michael. Luke offered a questioning look towards Michael, concern painting across his face, asking if Michael was ready to go in.

“Thank you for your utmost concern over my wellbeing,” Michael said quietly after responding with a slight nod of agreement.

“You’ll never need to thank me for such things as caring about you,” Luke whispered, his face turned away from Michael.

Luke pulled open the door to Ashton’s chamber, the wood creaking slightly under the strain of swinging open. They both slipped inside the room before Luke closed and latched the door, it hardly making a sound as it fell shut.

Ashton’s room was warm and well lit, a great fire filling the fireplace whilst the shutters were opened to let the sun’s light filter into the room. Stripes of the sun’s warm colored beams painted the stone floors. The fireplace was resting along the wall near where Calum was lying, assuaging Michael’s concerns; he was greatly pleased to know Ashton was caring for Calum well.

Near the back of the room, opposite to where Michael and Luke had entered, was the bed upon which Calum was resting. He was propped up with pillows, his legs stretched out before him, obscured by Ashton’s lean figure as he sat on the edge of the bed. Calum appeared deep in a conversation with Ashton, crinkles forming by his eyes as he spoke quietly. Ashton was talking animatedly, voice almost audible from so far away. Calum’s gaze slowly slipped from Ashton’s face and fell to Michael’s, a small smile tipping his lips up.

“Mikey,” Calum smiled, his sickness roughened voice barely carrying across the room.

“Hey, Cal,” Michael said, quickly closing the distance between himself and his brother. Upon noticing Michael’s advances, Ashton stood from the bed and stepped a pace away, Calum’s eyes briefly following the movement. Once Michael reached the bedside, Ashton gestured to where he had been sitting just moments prior, Michael taking Ashton’s invitation to sit down next to Calum without hesitation. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m not dead,” Calum said feebly, enthusiasm lacing his tiredness. He looked up towards Michael, a scrunched look filling his face, eliciting a fond laugh from Michael. Michael could hear Luke’s soft sock-muffled footsteps approaching them.

“I suppose that may very well be a step in the correct direction, though I hope you feel a tad better than death.”

“A tad,” Calum agreed, smiling. His gaze fell to rest on something behind Michael, a soberness falling over him. “My Lord, I–”

“Calum,” Luke interjected kindly. “Please be better than your brother and don’t use such formal titles. You’ll fast become my favorite here if you do.”

“Excuse me!” Ashton and Michael exclaimed simultaneously, both turning to look pointedly at Luke while Calum laughed quietly to himself.

“I’d quite like to think I’m your favorite, thank you very much,” Ashton said, rather severe offence filling his face. He crossed his arms and glared at Luke with a look that would have been frightening were it not for Michael knowing Ashton was hardly a threatening person.

A smirk filled Michael’s face whilst Luke tried in vain to retain some semblance of his dignity. Luke’s cheeks tinted pink and he stumbled over his words, his attempts at trying to reassure Ashton’s self-esteem failing as Ashton maintained his resolve. While their petty quibble persisted, Michael and Calum watched with contained laughter. Luke had only succeeded in wounding Ashton further.

“Ashton,” Calum interrupted quietly after a moment. “I quite like you best, at the moment.”

“You dare turn against your own flesh and blood because Ashton gave you pastries,” Michael muttered, watching as Ashton exclaimed happily while Luke swatted him away. “How are either of you nobles. You’d have disputes with every neighboring kingdom and land should you get into disagreements with them as quickly as you argue with one another.”

“Ruling is significantly easier when one isn’t distracted by someone as rowdy as Ashton,” Luke replied, looking pointedly at Ashton, who looked rather pleased with himself.

“Ah yes, Ashton, the one who advises you on many matters and would drop everything should you need his help. Quite the nuisance, I’m sure,” Michael said laughing, failing to avoid Luke as he directed his swatting in Michael’s direction. Luke turned towards Calum, resolutely ignoring Michael for the moment.

“Calum, I’m quite glad you’re feeling better. I’m sorry for our quibbles and joking around, although Ashton keeps a lighthearted mood more often than not, so you must’ve grown acquainted with such a fact. I’m sure you’d like to talk with Michael now, so Ashton and I will occupy ourselves in the meanwhile. It was really lovely meeting you.”

Luke directed Ashton towards the door, smiling fleetingly at Michael before he, too, turned around and followed Ashton from the room. Once the door fell shut, the only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the wood logs burning in the fireplace.

Michael shifted his position on the bed, moving to the center so he could face Calum, tucking his feet underneath him. “Cal, I wanted to talk about everything that’s changed over these past few days.”

“Ashton told me what happened once I woke up,” Calum said, a peacefulness to his quiet voice that Michael found reassuring. “It was rather disconcerting to wake up in such a place – the extravagance of Ashton’s room looked like heaven – but Ashton helped. It’s okay, Mikey.”

“I wish I could have been there when you woke up, Cal. I feel the need to apologize a thousand times over until words lose their meaning. So much changed over such a short span of time,” Michael rambled, his worrying ever so slightly starting to return against his will.

“You needn’t apologize for anything; you had other things to attend to – your face looks lovely, by the way,” Calum offered with a slight laugh, gesturing to Michael’s fresh bandages. “Besides, by the time I finally woke from my illness induced slumber, it was far too late to bring you here. I ended up falling asleep a few short hours later, anyway. The only thing I could request of you is that you tell all the parts of the story Ashton didn’t fill in. As lovely as a person he is, he easily gets distracted, making his stories rather hard to follow.”

“Where would you like for me to start?” Michael asked, shifting around in preparation for a long story.

“The beginning?” Calum offered with a noncommittal shrug, offering no more to Michael. His ambiguousness did little to help Michael.

“Well, you were very ill and–”

“And nothing has changed from there,” Calum interrupted with a small laugh, pushing Michael slightly with his foot. “Perhaps you ought to start at an exciting part instead.”

“How dare you interrupt my story,” Michael said, pushing Calum back gently. “It already started off much better than anything Ashton must have told you. But if you insist on an interesting part of the story, I dueled Luke.”

“Oh, you most certainly did not.”

“And I won.”

“Hell no, Michael. You did not duel the king _and_ win against him, especially while I was still in our cottage. Not only do I have no proof of such a matter, but if it did happen then I didn’t get to witness such a thing! If I knew that would have happened, I would have insisted upon you dragging my weak and dying body up to this castle sooner.”

“You know full well that wouldn’t have happened under my watch.”

“You know what else didn’t happen?” Calum inquired, leaning forward as if excited about his next statement. Feigned interest and anticipation seized his expression. “Your duel with Luke.”

“Ask him about it next you see him, Cal,” Michael said nonchalantly although a fond smile grew across Michael’s lips, barely visible. “I dueled with Luke because I had to prove to him that of all the men attending the castle, I was the most worthy to fight for him.”

“Against the great dragon,” Calum muttered softly, eyes dipping from the gaze they held with Michael.

Michael nudged Calum’s foot with his knee to gain his attention back. “Calum, I–”

“Mikey, I understand why you volunteered for such a quest – I would have done the same thing in a heartbeat should our places have been reversed. It’s just a lot to take in sometimes,” Calum said, his voice growing sad towards the end of his sentence.

“Exactly, Calum! It’s a lot to take in, and it’s starting to overwhelm me,” Michael began, his speech growing frantic. “You were dying, Cal. If a few more days passed, you likely wouldn’t have made it; I would be in this godforsaken kingdom without my brother. If I lost you, there would be no meaning to life anymore. Could you imagine how the world would have faded to grey as all the light had finally seeped from it? So much beauty has been torn from my grasp because of all I’ve lost; I couldn’t very well lose you too.

“So I was rash and foolish because maybe it would help you; I was playing pretend as the knight I know I’m not. I thought of brandishing great swords and riding on the back of a pure white horse, saving those in desperate need of help. I saw myself as a hero, except I’m so far from being one. I was the only commoner to waltz up to the king’s castle, the only one there who actually cared about the fate of the kingdom. So I talked to the king, I bested him in a duel – not without the injury to my cheekbone, as you’ve taken notice of – and I was given the opportunity to save you. Of all the able bodied men there, Luke chose me. He chose the starved peasant who was so painted with soot that you could hardly make out my expression.

“But I don’t understand, Cal. I don’t fucking understand why Luke would choose me. What has he to gain by sending me to fight for him? I know that the armies are weakened and necessary to protect the kingdom, that the knights are the final defense, but there were many nobles seeking their monetary reward. Their motives, though superficial, do little to prevent Luke from selecting them over me. At least they would be more suited for such a crucial point of our war with the great dragons.

“But Luke still chose me, asking what I sought of achieving from accomplishing such a goal. Of all the rewards I could have asked for, I merely wished to save you, Cal. Luke said he and Ashton would keep you at the castle and make sure you get over this illness. That same night we brought you to the castle, but I couldn’t help but wonder: what happens now? How does one live life after being brought into an entirely different world so unexpectedly?

“These past few days have left me so exceptionally grateful of everything that’s been given to me. Luke promised he would save you and here you are. But, god, what do I do now, Cal? You’re safe, but now I’m not. I could leave on my quest and never return from it. The last time you would see me would be my leaving from the front gates. How unfair would that be, Calum? I just succeeded in reversing our roles. Selfishness consumed my soul so much that you could very well be the one who’s alone.

“I know that Luke and Ashton would accept you as though you’re in their family, but I couldn’t live with myself should anything happen. If I don’t succeed, I won’t be able to watch over you anymore.” Michael sniffed then looked up to Calum with watery eyes. “Calum, I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”

Calum pushed himself up from where he was reclining against the multitude of pillows, shifting his weight so he was sitting on his knees. Once he was stable enough in his position, Calum leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Michael, pulling him into an embrace. Michael began shaking slightly, fighting down any tears that were threatening to slip down his face.

Michael was filled to the brim, well past the point of spilling over. He felt that he had to restrain the worry consuming him, holding everything in his grasp despite how it was too much for one person to carry. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he couldn’t carry the sky alone. Calum pulled Michael closer, his hand gliding reassuringly over his back. Michael didn’t know how he would fair without Calum by his side. They sat there for a moment, relishing in each other’s warmth, before Calum eventually pulled away and positioned himself so they were facing each other, his feet tucked beneath him like Michael’s.

“Mikey, I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared; hell, I’d be terrified. You decided to be the knight who’s going to save every single person in this kingdom, and that’s not an easy task to face. I know you don’t think you’re the hero, but you’re the greatest hero this land will ever see. The great dragon is not to be trifled with, and yet you’re one of so few willing to cease its raging over these lands. Even your commitment to such a quest makes you a greater hero than so many others vainly assuming the title.

“I just don’t want you to worry yourself too much. I trust Ashton and Luke just as much as you do, and I have no doubt in my mind that they will be more than accepting. They’ve helped me thus far, and will no doubt continue to do so. They’re one of few genuine people found at such a high class as theirs. I’ll be well looked after as I slowly get better.

“You just can’t dwell on these things once you leave, though. You trust Luke, you trust Ashton, and you best trust me as well. If we tell you everything back home will be okay, then we really do believe that. If half your mind is here in the castle and not with you on your quest, you’ll get distracted. You’ll need your wits about you, Mikey.

“Of course we’ll be worrying about you, but that wouldn’t be any different than the worry we have now. You could very well topple of a balcony simply by walking around carelessly – don’t argue, for we all know how clumsy you are by now. It’s just a different set of circumstances that direct our concern.

“But the thing is, Mikey, we have so much faith in you. More than you could ever begin to fathom. I trust your abilities as a fighter – I’ve watched as you’ve grown increasingly more advanced with a weapon – and I’m so proud of you. You are so incredibly well equipped for this, Mikey.

“I know you don’t see yourself as the knight in shining armor that fills the stories we heard as a child; I know you don’t see the hero inside yourself. We do, though. That’s why Luke chose you. He saw the hero he knows you are. You embody this exceptional dedication for all that you love, and a determination that will help you prevail. He didn’t pick you for your expendability. He chose you for your heart, your bravery, your kind soul. He found the beauty in you that no one else embodied. You said that there’s hardly any light left in the world, but you fail to see how your own light fills the darkness. Luke saw that in you. That’s why he chose you. You’re the hero of this story.

“Luke, Ashton, and I will be here encouraging you up until the moment you set foot outside of the kingdom, and even then we’ll still hold you in our hearts, knowing that someday hopefully not short after you’ll return back home to us. You’re the hero, Mikey. We know you’ll fuck that dragon up.”

Laughter rose from Michael’s chest unexpectedly, his heart warming greatly once Calum finished. Of all people, Calum understood Michael best, and while Luke was quickly closing that gap, Calum would always know how to reassure Michael and lighten the mood simultaneously. Calum’s advice would never be bested. Michael still felt anxiety flow through his veins, but Calum’s faith quelled how overwhelming it was.

“The ending to your speech was rather eloquent, Cal,” Michael said with a watery smile. He felt as though he was infinitely lighter than he was. “Perhaps you ought to be a bard instead of Luke.”

“Michael, while we haven’t been acquainted with him for long, you do know that Luke is the king, yes?” Calum inquired, confused amusement filling his voice.

“A king is what Luke may be, but a bard is what he wanted to be,” Michael explained quietly as if such information was only privy to few people. “Do your best to remind him incessantly of this fact, whether he’s giving a speech to the entirety of the kingdom or throwing grapes at people, remind him of how he wanted to be a bard.”

“Is your quest fighting dragons or teasing Luke?” Calum asked with light laughter, a small smiling filling his face and crinkling his eyes. “I’m quite fond of Luke. And Ashton as well.”

“I’m fond of them too. They’ve both been so incredibly kind to us. Look at how they’ve impacted our lives thus far, even in such a short span of time. Sure, we might have to return to our cottage eventually, but I can hardly fathom being troubled by life in the future after having a taste at such a wondrous life as this one. God, I’ll miss it, but I would never regret a second of meeting Luke and Ashton.”

Michael looked up to Calum only to find him peering beyond Michael himself. Before Michael had the chance to turn, Luke inquired, “What of Luke and Ashton?”

“We’re just rather flattered to be graced by your poetry, Luke,” Calum responded casually, a small shrug moving his shoulders as his lips tipped down into an innocent expression.

“Michael, you did not,” Luke said, his stern looking falling to rest on Michael. Michael’s sheepish grin confirmed that he did indeed tell Calum quickly turned into a scrunched face; he looked as though he was flinching from whatever Luke was intending to say next. “I cannot believe you told Calum about my bard dream. I trusted you with such a personal fact, and you betrayed me.”

“And you thought I was the theatrical one,” Michael muttered, looking to Calum to shake his head with both disappointed but disbelief.

Luke laughed softly but said nothing more of the matter. “I’ve come to inquire after you, Michael. I was in the library and found a great number of books on dragons and the lands surrounding the castle. I figured that while you’re still healing, it would make great use of your time to look into all that your quest will entail. Do make your way to the library once you’ve finished speaking with Calum.”

“Actually,” Calum said quickly, gaining Luke’s attention before he turned to leave. “Michael and I had just finished our conversation and moved onto discussing our gratitude of your and Ashton’s kindness. I’m fairly certain it would be more beneficial should he go with you to the library now than engage in idle talk with me.”

“Are you sure?” Luke wondered, his eyes bouncing between Calum and Michael. “I had no intentions of interrupting you. I just wished to remind you, Michael, of the notion before it slipped my mind entirely. I had already forgotten to mention it prior to you seeing Calum.”

“Luke, it’s okay,” Calum said, answering for both of them. Michael was exceptionally grateful that Calum was speaking, fearing that his eagerness in committing to Luke’s proposal might offend Calum. “Unless you’d rather us speak unceasingly of your apparent poetry, which we hardly touched on earlier, I’d quite like to rest.”

Michael offered Calum a questioning glace to which he was quickly given a reassuring smile before pulling Calum into a final embrace.

“Cal, thank you for all that you said,” Michael said earnestly. “I’ll visit you as soon as I possibly can.”

“I love you, Mikey,” Calum called after a moment once Michael had already stood up from the bed and sidled next to Luke. “Don’t forget that you’re the hero of the story sent to fuck that dragon up.”

“I love you too, Calum, but you have no tact,” Michael laughed, starting to make his way from Ashton’s chambers. “I’ll see you soon.”

Wordlessly, Michael and Luke stepped from the room, Luke catching the door just before it closed. Ashton gave both of them a scrunched grin before stepping into the room, letting the door fall latched silently. Michael would never cease his wonder at how Ashton embodied such cheerfulness. Luke led Michael down the corridor a bit before speaking.

“You’re fucking up the great dragon? I suppose that’s one way to go about it, although I recommend you at least read into lore beforehand.”

“I love Calum with my entire heart, but he does lack refinement at times.”

“I fancied that an excellent way to put it. The celebratory parades will have the entire kingdom shouting such vulgar words, but where’s the excitement in ‘refinement’,” Luke wondered aloud, emphasizing the last word as he quoted it from Michael. “Did all go well?”

“All went quite well. Calum knows exactly how to reassure my woes.”

“I’m glad. I had no doubt that he would succeed in such matters. Refinement, as you put it, he might not always have, but his ability to assuage your fears supersedes that,” Luke commented, his smile cast towards the stones that passed underfoot. “I don’t think you’ve been to this part of the castle yet.”

“I might have. I got exceptionally lost trying to return to your chambers yesterday,” Michael said, looking about at his surroundings to seek anything familiar. “Are we in the north wing of the castle, by any chance?”

“We’re in the east,” Luke responded absentmindedly. Michael watched Luke’s face as he eventually realized the intent of Michael’s question. “You will not run amok seeking ghosts to spite me.”

“But I shall!” Michael exclaimed excitedly, taking off down the passage with his arms flailing about at his sides. Once he reached the end he stopped and waited for Luke to meet him.

“This is why Ashton is with Calum and I’m with you. If you and Ashton managed to gain access to the castle’s entirety with me being completely unawares, chaos would likely ensue,” Luke sighed, a slight weariness weighing down on his posture.

“Oh, but wait until Calum feels better. Then we shall seem like the calm ones.”

“Why did I bring such calamities upon myself?” Luke asked dramatically, his arms moving about with disdain. Michael laughed at his dramatics, inviting Luke to continue speaking mindlessly. “I figured that we’d only touch the surface of the sea of books I pulled from the shelves earlier. You’d want a background on where it is you’ll be venturing to, as well as a strategy once you encounter the great dragon. I might have grabbed stacks and stacks of books, papers, and drawings, but that hardly means we should go through all of it.”

“I suspect it will be quite the eventful afternoon, then.”

“That it will be,” Luke agreed. “When you leave on your quest, I’ll send a few men to accompany you. I know of your abilities with a sword, so I propose that you have men who are skilled with a bow and arrow. Archers could prove vital to your fight. If I could spare more, I would send you with the most equipped army, but the kingdom is still exceptionally vulnerable. I want to do a better job at protecting those living here than my father.”

“Luke, even sending me with your lowest rank soldier and a loaf of bread would be better than no support at all,” Michael said, nearly running into Luke as he stopped in front of a great set of doors, intricate wrought iron designs swirling over the deep stained wood. All semblance of their previous conversation dissipated in the air.

As Michael stepped to new parts of the castle each day, he found it to be increasingly beautiful. When he entered the library, however, most everything else he’d seen inside the castle paled in comparison. The entirety of the vast room was filled with dark walnut colored wood, each wall lined with great bookshelves. More stood in the middle of the room, rows upon rows of chest high shelves striped the room with deep brown, each nearly overflowing with volumes of books.

Near the back corner of the library there were small alcove windows, filtering white light into the otherwise candle lit room; a few tables were positioned haphazardly near the windows, a few intricately carved wooden chairs pushed up to them. Near the largest of the tables, great sofas of animal hide were angled towards each other, a table low to the ground filling the space between them. Books were stacked at random over every tabletop, covered in loose pieces of parchment.

“Your library is beautiful,” Michael commented after a moment of taking everything in. He was still glancing around, eyes lingering on all the darkened gaps between books were Luke must have pulled them for Michael to read. His gaze eventually fell to rest on Luke, as he admired the library as well. “Everything is so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Luke smiled, eyes still wandering along the shelves. He eventually turned back towards Michael. “As you’ve likely noticed, I had no restraint when grabbing books from the shelves. I tried sorting things in some semblance of order, but the likelihood of my success in doing so is rather slim.”

“I have faith in you,” Michael murmured, distracted by all of the knowledge before him. “Where should we start?”

“My thoughts were that you start on the forests, for you shan’t best a dragon without first overcoming the dangers that lie there. Then we can discuss the dragon’s abilities. I might not be able to sit and read every book I’ve pulled for you, for I’ve other business to attend to as well this afternoon, but I’ll gladly talk with you about everything, should you so desire.”

“Luke, there must be at least one hundred different books you have spread on the tables. I can’t fathom understanding all of that without it blurring together should you not discuss it with me.”

“Very well,” Luke said with light laughter. “We’ve quite a lot of learning to be had.”

Luke walked towards the tables first, picking up stacks of books and moving them to the floor to clear space on the table top. He moved a roll of light cream vellum to the clear space he made, setting a small pot of black ink and a quill next to it before circling the few tables in search of something.

Michael watched amusedly as Luke bent at the waist and tipped his head to read the spines of all the books. He eventually found the one he was seeking, a small green book near the bottom of a pile. He slid his fingers around either side of the book and quickly pulled it out, a loud noise resounding throughout the entire library as the other books fell crashing to the floor.

“Fuck,” Luke whispered softly, crouching to pick up books from the floor.

Refraining from laughing, Michael skirted between the tables and began to gather books in his arms as well, pressing his fingers along some pages to keep them from being bent from their tumble to the floor. Standing, he placed them back onto the small rectangle of table indicating where the pile had been.

“This is what I think you should start with,” Luke said, the thin green book extended to Michael. Before Michael could take it from Luke, he scurried off to grab a large roll of parchment. “As well as this. It will give you a layout of the land and an understanding of the forests you’ll venture through.”

Michael took the two from Luke and sat at one of the cushioned animal hide chairs, carefully unrolling the parchment to see a map of the king’s and neighboring lands. The castle was positioned near the top and center of the paper. Luke’s land quickly extended into the icy forests of the north that extended to the barren coasts. To the east, grasslands lead into the sand of the oceans, many small towns dotting along the shores. Many men lived along the warmer shores of the east, while those of the north only offered ice and raging storms.

Eyes trailing down the paper, the deep green forests of the south were what Michael would likely have to venture to. They were teeming with the magic and life of the natural world, housing the elves that lived mostly separate from men. Druids and elves generally lived alone in the forests, their only interactions with men for the exchange of goods. Few men lived in the forests, the only heavy marks of ink being the drawings of the trees.

Beyond the reaches of the forest were the barren lands of dark sands and jagged caves in the west. That was ultimately where Michael sought to go. The great dragon had laid waste to the land, leaving it nothing but a mountainous landscape of charred and smoldering stone. It was an expanse of ashen granite and obsidian that lead to the western seas. Only passage through the forest of the elves would lead Michael to where the dragon resided.

Picking up the small book, Michael read _The Traversal of the Woodlands_ penned in gold ink across its cover. He leafed through the pages, reading of the dangers found in the woods and the advice offered for those who sought adventure. Michael fast became acquainted with the life of the forest and the creatures that might reside in it.

After great reading, Michael found that the elves and the druids were the races he was most likely to cross paths with in the forest. Though hardly formidable, their relations with men were not built on a great foundation. After the late king’s war with the dragons, the forest creatures were pulled into battle as well. They had been fighting with the great dragon since the ruination of the kingdom those many years ago.

While the kingdom slowly built itself up from rubble, the elves waged their own war with the rage of the great dragon. Nature spirits became increasingly angered by the dragon’s destruction of the forests, eventually taking to defend it with all they could. Even passive nymphs became enemies of the great dragon.

The faeries and spriggans of the forest brought more worry to Michael, though, their nature to meddle with men likely to hinder his quest. Although hope arouse that they, too, would bond with men over the war with the great dragon, the likelihood of such an alliance was slim. Their magic could range from inconvenient stealing to killing men by having them waste away from their exhaustion. The lore suggested he carry cold iron and rowan, yet such protections only did so much to assuage Michael’s concerns.

It was happening across sorcerers that would either be the greatest source of danger or the best ally for Michael. Witches, like the lamia witch only sought the ruination of men, devouring them without hesitation. Those who could wield great magic, though, could easily help Michael fight the dragon without up close combat. It was a matter of happenstance as to whether Michael would cross paths with benign or malevolent sorcery.

Michael reached towards another of the many volumes of books he had surrounding him, keen on reading about the defenses of sorcery, but was interrupted by a small piece of crumpled vellum hitting his forehead. Looking towards Luke, he raised his eyebrows and inquired after the interruption. Luke had been thumbing through books at Michael’s quest, but spent the majority of their afternoon writing over his pieces of vellum.

“You look as though you might burst, Mikey,” Luke answered in response to Michael’s questioning look. He straightened the papers he had been writing on then stood up to sit next to Michael.

“There’s quite a lot to be wary of,” Michael replied, glancing about at the great spread of books and papers before him.

“Tell me of all you’ve learned,” Luke suggested. He tucked his feet up beneath him and faced Michael. “Perhaps if we talk about it we can conceive a plan together. Are there any pressing worries?”

“What are our relations with the elves?” Michael asked, eyes coming to rest on the elven region of the maps on the table near him.

“Strained but growing better,” Luke put simply. “Men and elves ignored each other, holding to an unspoken arrangement of neither speaking to one another nor inhibiting one another. We respected their claim of the southern forests while we held our lands to the north.

“It wasn’t until my father’s crusades against the dragons that the elves and men began interacting. Upon the great dragon’s ruination of this kingdom, the one that killed my father, the elves raised their armies in precaution of any fight that might affect them, consequently joining the war. The great dragon brought fire to their forests not short after.

“The elves have been fighting this war for quite a long time now, trading with the kingdom. We help their armies to fight while they help ours rebuild itself. My father’s many battles killed a great number of soldiers, and our resources fell to ash. We’re slowly building up from the disaster that struck.

“I’ve slowly been building better relations with the races of woodland elves. If you ever happen upon them, mention that you’ve been sent by the king. If you can gain allies through the elves, your battle with the great dragon will prove more favorable on your side.”

“So I should try to gain the support of the elves,” Michael summed up, more for his own remembering.

“Yes,” Luke reaffirmed, a slight smile cast towards Michael. “Is there anything else that presents worry?”

“ _Ardens Anguis_ ,” Michael sighed. Despite making his way through a great many books and papers, he’d still brought up nothing on the dragon. It was the reason for his quest, and yet he found that he knew the least about it.

“Wait right here,” Luke said rather quickly, pushing himself from the chair. He disappeared behind the bookshelves filling the center of the room, but continued speaking, his voice dampening in the air. “I recall my father writing of the dragons he fought. With his many battles against the great dragon, he must’ve put something about the great dragon.”

Luke’s head grew visible from the shelves once more as he hurried back to Michael, a small leather bound journal in hand. He fell to the cushion, excitement resulting in carelessness, and quickly flipped through the pages. Michael caught glimpses of black ink scratches and crudely made drawings fill the pages.

“My father’s handwriting is shit,” Luke commented, his nose wrinkling with distaste. “But his dedication – should it even be given such a revering title – will bring about promising descriptions of the great dragon and how to slay it.”

Michael watched fondly as Luke flipped back and forth between the pages, muttering inaudible comments to himself, before finally finding what he was seeking. Pulling his ebony lip ring between his teeth, Luke’s eyes quickly passed across the words. He seemed lost to the world, absorbed in all that he was reading.

“It appears that the great dragon is like the Sárkány Dragon of the distant eastern lands,” Luke said slowly, his finger following along the uneven lines of his father’s writing. “It embodies fire yet has skin as dark as the night, which we all very well know, nears fifteen meters in length, has wings suited for flight – although my father mentions it prefers to remain on the ground should the position be ideal for it – and has great spines trailing along its back and tail.”

“Quite the formidable beast indeed,” Michael muttered with a weary sigh. He leaned over to glance at the journal Luke was reading, head hovering just to the left of Luke’s shoulder. “Are there any mentions of how to overcome the great dragon, or even any dragon in general?”

Luke flipped back a few pages, carelessly moving them about as he searched for an answer. “All I’ve seen is that you need to either remove its head or pierce its heart. _Ardens Anguis_ isn’t particularly slender, given its size, so decapitation wouldn’t be the recommended way to slay it. Its underbelly is likely more vulnerable, so if you can manage to slip underneath the great dragon, you could easily pierce through its heart.

“That would still require great force and weapons of exceptional abilities, even if the dragon is exceptionally weakened upon you trying to kill it.”

“Clearly an easy target,” Michael commented sarcastically, a bitter laugh rising as quickly as it died. “Surely it can’t be much more difficult than throwing grapes at you.”

“You dare compare those?” Luke inquired, his laughter more genuine than Michael’s. “Such a drastic juxtaposition. I’d like to think I’m a harder mark to hit than something as great in size as a dragon.”

“While you’re significantly smaller than the great dragon might be, you’re hardly as dangerous. Until you have fires burning within you, I’ll not fear you, Luke.”

“I don’t need sorcery to master fire,” Luke muttered, face quickly becoming worryingly pensive.

Michael slowly reached down, eyes steadfast on Luke’s face whilst his fingers curled around the crumpled piece of vellum that had fallen to the floor after hitting his face. Once he sat up, Michael carefully aimed and threw the paper so it bounced off the bridge of Luke’s nose.

“Mikey,” Luke exclaimed, although any force behind the statement drowned in his laughter.

“Lukey,” Michael mimicked, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I was contemplating all the ways I could best my enemies with fire and you just interrupted my thoughts– you’ve never said that before,” Luke said, eyes wide as his expression quickly became sobered.

“New things are blossoming all around us; it just takes time for them to grow to fruition,” Michael muttered, sagely yet evasive. “And in regards to new things, I’d quite like more knowledge of the great dragon. Is there any more your father wrote that could be of use?”

“There are merely journal entries leading to my father’s death, which I hardly fathom would be of use reading into,” Luke said, answering Michael’s question to distract from the pinking of his cheeks. He quickly skimmed the pages. “Wait, my father wrote that he wounded the great dragon, at least slightly. He said the tip of his sword struck at the dragon’s chest, its victims falling victim to the blade. Granted, that was many years ago, but still gives rise to the slightest hope.”

Luke looked up to Michael, his face tired but earnest. He offered a smile, lazy and begging for rest. Their hours in the library were spent with tedious but important reading. In the silence of the room, Luke’s eyes began to fall with the weight of sleep.

“Perhaps we ought to stop for the evening,” Michael suggested, concern for Luke’s wellbeing greatly overshadowing his own worry about the quest he would soon be embarking on.

“I’m rather fond of your proposition,” Luke commented, voice filled with the same lethargy as his movements. He appeared extremely grateful for Michael’s suggested break.

Michael nodded and started forward, fully intended to tidy of the multitude of books and loose pieces of paper before they retired from the library, but Luke caught his arm and stopped his movements. After pausing for a moment, Michael leaned back into the cushioned chair, positioning himself so he could better see Luke.

“Michael, I know how incredibly worried you are, about Calum, the quest, the war you’re soon going to face. I just wished to tell you that I have so much faith in you. I can hardly fathom my thoughts into words, but I will always support you, and I wish you know this. I care dearly for you and your wellbeing, and never wished the stress accompanying this quest to be put on you. There’s a great weight falling to rest on your shoulders – I can see it – but I will do my best to help you carry it. I wish I could better express myself extemporaneously,” Luke said quietly, his arms pulling his knees tightly to his body.

“I would be overcome with anxiety regardless of whether I’m off to challenge the greatest threat of the kingdom or I’m to purchase food for Calum and myself. Fears will always be lingering like the shadows in the corners of the room, ever persisting regardless of the light shining on them; rather than tear apart the walls to seek their end, it’s better to cease their effect. I’ll be frightened of the great dragon for innumerable days, that is without a doubt, but I find myself searching for the reassurance sent towards me than fleeing from something I can’t escape. It’s not easy to grow numb to something so seizing, but such accomplishments bright light back into my soul.”

And Michael believed the words he spoke wholeheartedly. He fared better from accepting the faith held in him, by having faith in himself as well. Why run blindly in the dark than find the one carrying the torch? Michael knew fright would still strike at his heart, but he had the people he trusted to catch him when he fell. He might still be lost in the dark, but his soul was already filling with light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's well past 2am right now, but I hope it was a good chapter! [Here's](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/141192330341/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) the moodboard for it.
> 
> [Here](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/ca/The_Hunt_of_the_Unicorn_Tapestry_1.jpg) is another one of the tapestries that Luke and Michael were talking about. [This](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hungarian_mythology) is a little bit about what the great dragon might be like. Vellum is like parchment, but is of a greater quality as it comes from calfskin. [This](http://1-background.com/images/vellum/vellum-old-vellum-background1.jpg) is what it looks like. And while I'm adding a bunch of links to things, [here](https://www.bing.com/images/search?q=dragon+tea+party&view=detailv2&&id=4757E0F5906CDA5A391C06C3BA515329EC228557&selectedIndex=0&ccid=zC2ym9W6&simid=608007919385839382&thid=OIP.Mcc2db29bd5ba5b6361b5300324f315e4o0&ajaxhist=0) is cute art of a dragon tea part I found while I got distracted.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought by giving kudos or writing comments! They made my day and are always exceptionally encouraging :)
> 
> Feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com) if you have comments or questions. I'd love to hear from everyone! Thanks, lovelies!


	4. give me your hand and i'll hold it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i guess the loneliness came knocking_  
>  _no one needs to be alone, oh save me_  
>  -[People Help The People by Birdy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmLNs6zQIHo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be important later, but Glyndwr is pronounced glin-doo-wer, and Evart is pronounced ĕ-vart, with a short e sound. I recently discovered that Evert is the name of a town in Michigan, so there are likely to be pronunciation guides for it. I've also learned that there's a Glyndŵr University in Wales and London.

“Just attack me, Michael,” Luke urged, his arms spread away from his body, openly inviting Michael’s offense. “Your foes will have no concerns as to whether or not their fight brings injury to you; in fact, they will be hoping to cause you great injury. Don’t pay any mind should your attacks today bring wounds with them.”

Michael stood in the middle of the king’s sparsely occupied training grounds, his own sword held limply in his hand. It felt significantly better in Michael’s grip than the rusted and bent sword he had been given to first duel Luke with. Despite the fact that his fight with Luke this afternoon would be with wooden training swords, the hilt and balance had no flaws to them, and the blade was cut perfectly straight. Regardless, Michael was exceptionally hesitant to use it.

Michael had the sword’s point to the closely cut grass, spinning it around between his fingers to create an indentation in the dirt rather than pay attention as Luke tried convincing him to duel. While Michael understood the necessity of bettering his fighting abilities, his desire to not harm Luke outweighed such a notion greatly. He’d be more inclined to duel with a knight whilst Luke observed than fight Luke himself.

“Michael, fight him already. I want to see you win against him – no offense meant to you, Luke – especially since your previous duel certainly did not have such an outcome,” Calum teased from Michael’s right, hoping to encourage Michael to prove him wrong. Ashton laughed lightly with Calum.

Calum and Ashton had come to rest upon the open field, Calum arguing that he would start to feel better should he be allowed to get both fresh air and a change of scenery, much to Michael and Ashton’s dismay. Calum kept insisting upon spending even a short time outside in the sunlight until Ashton finally gave into his requests, so they were both sitting on the grounds. A blanket was wrapped around Calum’s shoulders on Ashton’s request, a vain attempt to keep his illness at bay; with the transition into spring, there was hardly a chill outside. Calum and Ashton decided to make their journey into the sunshine at the peak of the day’s light, watching as Michael and Luke trained.

Hesitantly, Michael raised his own sword to fighting level, stance firm but unsure. He tucked his elbows in towards his body, both hands wrapped firmly around the grip; Michael was pleased that it was wrapped with soft shagreen rather than exposed wood. Michael kept his weight forward and balanced to support him for the imminent duel, yet as physically prepared as he was for it, he was hardly mentally ready.

Luke mirrored Michael’s movements, his eyes bright while a smile fell upon his face. Michael, however, felt dread course throughout his being. Should he be pressured into dueling, which seemed to be an inevitable outcome at such a point, he would do his best to win; Michael just wished dearly that he wouldn’t hurt Luke. He was aware that their swords were merely crafted from wood, their likelihood to break through skin nearly eliminated entirely should they strike each other, but bruises could still easily blossom across their skin.

“Ready?” Luke inquired, voice laced both with concern and excitement. He shifted minutely, his feet spreading slightly to give him greater stability and ease of movement. Luke’s stance was wide and sturdy, making him already infinitely more prepared to duel than Michael.

“Not particularly,” Michael muttered in response. Regardless, his right foot slid backwards to open up his body as well. He bettered his grip around his sword and looked up to Luke.

Not a moment after, Luke started forward, feet gliding lightly over the ground with ease. Michael met his offense with quick defensive maneuvers, the flat side of his wooden blade creating a hollow sound against Luke’s own sword. As he drifted backwards across the field, Michael made sure to keep their fight as far from Calum and Ashton as he could.

Michael’s movements had only the necessary strength behind them to keep Luke’s offenses at bay, his parries merely hindering Luke but not truly helping Michael. It was almost as if half of his focus was put into carefully controlling how much force was used. Luke, however, held a rigid frame, his broad shoulders were taught, held down and back, and his balance never wavered. The lines of Luke’s body were smooth, his posture impeccable. He glided with grace and ease, no doubt from many years of training.

Luke’s feet were almost always flat upon the ground to provide a greater force behind his strikes, barely lifting from the grass as he slid them over the ground. Luke was greatly attuned to every aspect of their duel, keenly aware of each movement and strike Michael made. As their fight persisted, Luke began to sidestep in anticipation of Michael’s counterattacks.

“Don’t restrain yourself, Michael,” Luke advised as he avoided another of Michael’s parries with ease. His voice “Fight with the strength you’ll have in your battles. Don’t attack with consistency; don’t allow your opponent to anticipate your next move. Have confidence in yourself, Mikey.”

With Luke’s encouragement, Michael a greater determination in his movements – a greater strength was flowing through his veins. He still feared hurting Luke, but the affirmation meant he could put his all into the duel without the threat of repercussions.

While Luke was still on offense, slowly guiding himself and Michael away from where Calum and Ashton sat, he became less and less prepared for Michael’s parries. As Michael’s confidence in his fighting grew, Luke started to lose his upper hand in the duel.

Michael placed the majority of his focus in his fight with Luke, every other consideration made merely on instinct. His attention was directed entirely towards the Luke’s advances, trying to switch his position from defense to that of offense. He didn’t wish to lose hold of the power he was slowly gaining in the duel.

A shade fell over him, though, everything before Michael darkening and distracting him. He glanced backwards to see that Luke had been backing him up against the castle wall, which severely limited the area in which he could fight. Upon turning back, Luke had his sword drawn to the side slightly, much to Michael’s confusion. Before he could ponder it, Luke raised his leg and kicked at Michael, the sole of his foot hitting Michael squarely in the center of his chest.

All air had been drawn from Michael’s lungs as he hit the grass, both from the impact of Luke’s foot on his chest and the force of landing on the ground. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he had fallen, nearly slipping once again, as he gasped for fresh air to fill his lungs. Michael’s movements slowed as he tried more to regain his breath than to defend himself from Luke’s offenses. With sloppy counterattacks and defense, Michael barely protected himself from Luke.

After a brief passing of time, Michael couldn’t match the pace of Luke’s strikes; Luke’s sword swung before Michael could block it, the blade hitting roughly across Michael’s left leg just below the knee. Michael’s knee buckled beneath him from the pain, causing Michael to fall to the grass once more.

“Fuck,” Michael muttered on a loop, heels digging into the grass as he tried scooting his body away from Luke. His leg felt as though it was burning, his attempts in vain.

Luke managed to catch up to Michael easily, kicking Michael’s sword from his hand before falling to his knees as well. Luke straddled Michael, his knees near Michael’s own while he switched his grasp on his sword to both the hilt and the blade, pushing its edge towards Michael’s neck. Michael quickly brought his hands up to push it away, his fingers curling over where Luke’s hands rested. The rough wood cut into Michael’s palms, and his arms shook as he struggled to force Luke and the blade away.

With his arms doing little to overcome Luke, Michael brought his knees up and wrapped his legs around Luke’s waist, twisting his torso and shoulders to shove Luke to the ground. With one final push from his arms on the sword between them, Luke topped to Michael’s left. Luke’s elbows hit roughly on the ground, his back falling to the grass just a moment later.

As Michael flipped their positions, the pommel of the wood sword struck across Luke’s mouth, blood immediately falling from his split lip. Trying not to let any concern over the injury cloud his mind, Michael then forced the blade down towards Luke’s neck. Luke barely managed to catch it, closed fists striking against the blade as his knuckles roughly came into contact with the wood just before it reached him. While Luke struggled to switch his grip to his palms, Michael slowly inched closer as the wooden sword trembled between them.

Michael’s knees were pressed close to just below Luke’s hips, giving him less of an advantage in his support of pressing the blade down on Luke, but restricting Luke’s movements so he couldn’t use his legs to push Michael off of him. Michael could feel Luke move beneath him, trying to hit his knees against Michael’s back, but he couldn’t quite contort his body in a way that could either wind Michael again or provide enough strength to force Michael to the ground.

After a moment of struggling between them, Michael finally pressed the wooden blade of the sword to Luke’s neck, Luke’s arms immediately falling slack upon the touch. Michael ceased his advances and placed the sword near the one Luke had kicked away. He then shifted off of Luke and laid on the ground next to him, chest heaving as it fought to fill with air.

Michael stretched his arms above his head, fingers resting amongst the blades of grass, as he tried to ease the flow of air into his lungs. Michael closed his eyes and reveled in the cool shade from the castle’s high walls, listening as Luke’s breathing beside him began to fall to a calmer pace.

Michael eventually decided he should stand up, carefully lifting his body from the ground. Once he placed weight on his left leg, though, it nearly buckled under him from pain radiating from just below his knee. It still felt as though fires were burning across his skin.

“Fuck,” Michael whispered to himself for the second time that day, weight put entirely on his right leg as he reached down to roll up the leg of his trousers. He carefully cuffed it in such a way that kept his pants from brushing over where his leg was throbbing.

Hearing Michael’s quiet exclamation, Luke quickly rose from the ground as well, concern filling his tired face. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Nothing of import. It’s just a bruise,” Michael muttered, looking down at the purples and blues began blossoming over his shin and calf where Luke’s sword had fallen. His fingers gingerly passed across the surface, but he quickly drew them back.

“Mikey,” Luke trailed, voice ridden with sadness and guilt. “I’m so sorry. That was my fault.”

“Luke, you don’t need to apologize. You told me to fight with all I have, but the same applies to you as well. I was the one who failed to block that strike,” Michael said, trying to assuage Luke’s concerns. The downturn of Luke’s mouth indicated that it did little to help.

Looking down, Michael saw the light purple bruises that were forming across Luke’s knuckles where the sword’s blade had hit them. Reaching out, Michael gently took hold of Luke’s hands, his cold fingers resting lightly over Michael’s palms. Michael raised their hands up between them so Luke could see. “Besides, I’m not the only one with bruises.”

Luke looked down at his own hands, eyebrows pulling together as his eyes clouded. Whether it was from pain or something else entirely, Michael couldn’t ascertain. Michael carefully let Luke’s hands fall to rest at his sides, instead looking up to where Luke’s lip was still slightly bleeding. Tentatively, Michael raised his hand and brushed the bad of his thumb just below where Luke’s lip was split, carefully wiping away some of the blood that had spilled. It was already beginning to swell, even after such a short time, but the bleeding that had started during their duel began to slow.

“Now we both have injuries to our faces,” Michael laughed quietly, no amusement behind his statement. He brushed his hands lightly across his pants to clean his fingers.

“It appears that we do,” Luke said, his voice as soft as his facial expression. Luke looked up towards Michael, a faint smile reaching his eyes. His mouth was hardly able to tip up into one. “Perhaps we ought to return to Calum and Ashton to see their thoughts on the duel? I’m sure Calum is rather pleased to know you won and this time have proof of such.”

“Calum is no doubt rather glad to have witnessed me win, and I’m glad I won’t have to hear his endless complaints over how he didn’t see our last duel. Assuming he paid any attention, that is,” Michael said, starting forward across the field to return to Calum and Ashton. Moving his left leg caused a great deal of pain to flood throughout it, so he limped a few steps from where he had been standing before Luke stopped him.

“Let me help,” Luke said softly, wrapping his right arm around Michael’s waist before gently taking Michael’s hand to guide it around his shoulder. With Luke’s support Michael could ease the weight from his injured leg.

“It shouldn’t hurt for too long – it’s simply a bruise, so the pain should fade – but for the time being,” Michael trailed off leaving his sentence unfinished. Michael wasn’t entirely pleased that he needed assistance for something as simple as walking.

“That’s quite alright. I was unrestrained in my attacks, just as you grew to be,” Luke said, a fondness filling his voice. “You fought well. You need to have that confidence every time you fight, Michael. Otherwise, be aware of your surroundings, for you could be distracted or you could trip – the great dragon’s lands are barren and rocky, after all – and do your best not to grasp a sword’s blade unless you have gloves on.”

“Thank you, Luke,” Michael said earnestly, pleased both with the encouragement but the advice as well. Perhaps their duel wasn’t entirely as undesirable as Michael had anticipated. While they both acquired minor wounds, Michael found that he had benefited greatly.

After the short time it took for them to slowly make their way across the field, Michael and Luke finally reached where Calum and Ashton were sitting, engaged in a conversation. Luke carefully helped Michael to sit on the ground before sitting down himself. Once they were both settled on the grass, Calum and Ashton’s talking fell to a silence, looking up to the other two.

“You both look like shit,” Ashton commented, taking in their appearances now that they were finally easily viewed. Luke scoffed slightly while Michael laughed in agreement. “But you both dueled exceptionally well.”

“I said that I’ve watched your technique grow through the years, Mikey, and I wasn’t wrong when I said that you fight well. Ashton clearly agrees,” Calum said, smiling up at Michael. “Congratulations on winning.”

“How did you grow so skilled in your swordsmanship, if you don’t mind my asking?” Ashton inquired, interrupting Michael before he had the chance to thank Calum. He was surprised by the question.

“After our parents fell victim to the fires of the city, Calum and I sought work with a blacksmith. He was so fearful that the great dragon’s plight would continue to ravage the kingdom that he offered to train us in fighting. He was hardly like the knights that fight for the kingdom, but he knew enough to give us the foundation that was needed,” Michael explained simply. There was no great story filled with the training of heroes, but the others seemed interested in what Michael had to say.

“But you fight better than the knights. You fight better than I do. How did you develop your skill?” Luke asked, genuine intrigue passing across his face.

“Beyond what the blacksmith taught me, I suppose I just observed the knights as tournaments were being held. I fancied myself a hero and needed the skills as one. I tried to adapt my fighting to mirror theirs.”

“You gained such skill from simply using observations to build upon the foundation you had?” Luke wondered aloud, mild shock filling his face. “Ashton and I both had many long years of training.”

“I suppose I did,” Michael agreed with a shrug. “I just tried to be like the kingdom’s heroes and not perish at a blade. Everything else fell in around that.”

“And now you are the kingdom’s hero,” Luke said softly, face tipped towards the ground. Michael could still see where his eyes creased from a smile.

“Of course you are,” Calum agreed animatedly, moving about so much that the blanket around his shoulders slipped to the ground. “Are both of you alright? Ashton did say you both look like shit, and he’s not entirely wrong.”

“Some bruises and Luke’s injured lip, but otherwise I think we’ll be okay,” Michael answered, watching as Ashton pulled the blanket back around Calum’s shoulders. He looked to Luke for confirmation of his statement and received a slight nod in agreement.

“So what are you to do now that dueling isn’t necessarily an option?” Ashton inquired, pulling his knees up to his chest. He looked rather content sitting there with Calum.

“Attend to this new injuries, firstly. Then I have a few minor things in mind for Michael and I to do, which,” Luke said hastily, holding up his hand to cut off any of Michael’s questions before he could ask them. “I will explain in due time once I can speak more easily.”

“You best hurry off to that sooner rather than later before your wounds get worse,” Ashton suggested. He then glanced over to Calum. “Do you want to stay outside for a while longer?”

“Ideally,” Calum answered with a slight nod, ultimately leaving the decision up to others.

“It seems settled then,” Michael commented, knowing full well Calum would spend the rest of his days outside if he could. “Please make sure Calum feels well, Ashton, although I already know you will.”

With the rest of their day decided, Luke stood up and took both of Michael’s hands in his own to pull Michael from the ground. Bidding Calum and Ashton farewell, Luke and Michael slowly made their way back across the fields, picking up their swords before heading towards a door that led to a part of the castle Michael had never seen before. Calum and Ashton appeared to remain sitting in the middle of the training fields.

When they entered through the door, Michael was met with a small and simply furnished room. There was a wooden bench that trailed down the length of the wall to Michael’s right, a row of short windows above it. Opposite where Michael was standing was an armory display, chainmail and plating stored on hooks in the stone while swords and shields were placed beneath them. The other wall had shelves mounted to store a number of various items Michael surmised were to meet the army’s needs, with a small washbasin positioned in the corner.

Luke sat himself down heavily on the bench, body slumping forward with weariness, giving Michael full access to the room. Michael first slowly made his way to the armory racks, putting the two training swords away, before he began looking around at the shelves.

He found cloth folded on the lowest shelf near the washbasin and took a piece, holding its corner so it unfolded to its full size. Michael dipped the cloth in the water filling the basin, letting it soak completely before ringing it out so it didn’t drip. He set it carefully on the nearest shelf then did the same thing with another piece of cloth.

Once he had the two damp rags, Michael walked back over to Luke and sat next to him, fingers brushing gently over Luke’s arm to get his attention. Luke looked up to Michael, his eyes looking exceptionally tired, silently questioning what Michael wanted.

Michael brought one of the damp rags up to Luke’s lip, hoping it would answer his inquiry, carefully cleaning the blood that had fallen. One hand was under Luke’s chin, tipping his head this way and that to easily tend to his wound. When Michael had finished cleaning the wound, there was a thin line of red crossing Luke’s swollen lip, mirroring where his ebony was, but it looked significantly better than it had.

Michael stood up to place the used rag in a container filled with other tainted pieces of cloth, then dipped his hands into the washbasin to clean them. He then walked back to Luke and offered the other damp rag he had.

“Take it. It’s cool, so it should take away from the pain of your bruised knuckles,” Michael suggested, unfolding the rag from the twists of it being wrung out.

“But your leg,” Luke argued, looking up to Michael with a concerned expression.

“Is fine,” Michael finished, smiling at Luke reassuringly. He pressed the cool rag over Luke’s hands to let him know it was okay. “Tell me of the remainder of this afternoon’s activities instead of worrying.”

“Ever the curious one,” Luke laughed, rolling his eyes. “Once we finish here I think we should head to the stables and meet not only the horse I’ll be sending you with, but the two men who will be accompanying you on your quest. Then, if time still allows, I’d like you to be fitted for adequate armor. While your fighting is excellent, injuries are less likely to occur should you have significantly greater protection.”

“Metal armor is also less likely to burn than linen,” Michael offered, laughing when Luke gave him an upset look. “It’s not untrue, Luke, and you know that. It’s merely more protection, which helps when the great dragon embodies fire.”

“Your logic is unflawed yet disconcerting,” Luke sighed, looking down at where Michael’s hands were still wrapped over Luke’s, holding the cool rag to his knuckles. “If you’re ready, we can walk to the stables now.”

Michael agreed, standing carefully with Luke beside him. As Michael limped towards the door and back outside, Luke quickly wrapped his arm back around Michael’s waist.

“Your leg is fine, hm?” Luke hummed in question, gently pulling Michael into his side.

“It will be,” Michael replied after a moment’s thought. “But a cool rag won’t numb it quite enough for me to continue throughout the day unhindered, so I’d rather help you.”

“Fair enough,” Luke consented, letting the conversation drop. He still assisted Michael greatly though, supporting a fair amount of Michael’s bodyweight.

Together, they walked to the edge of the training grounds and even further beyond, following the slight slope of the land to reach the stables. They were rather far from the castle’s main entrance, more easily accessible from where the king’s army spends the majority of their time.

Once they reached the bottom of the small hill, Michael saw the stables, simple buildings of stone walls and wooden beams. The fronts were opened, the great doors drawn to the side to allow easy access to the stables’ interiors. Inside each one were latched stalls housing many horses, and more empty stalls as horses roamed the fields behind the castle. Of the horses inside, they were all well-groomed and had varying colors and coats.

Luke led Michael towards the middle of the buildings, entering it and treading over the hay covered ground past many empty stalls until he stopped. In the stall across from where Michael and Luke stopped was a sorrel horse, a deep brown color over its entire body. Michael thought it looked rather kind in comparison to the other more easily agitated horses they had passed. Once it noticed Michael and Luke, it ceased eating hay and looked up.

“Michael, this is Gerard, the horse I selected for you to ride,” Luke said, his hand smoothing over Gerard’s forehead. “He’s a gelding and easily one of the kindest and most reliable horse in the stables. I figured he would be loyal and ride well for you.”

Michael nodded in affirmation that he heard what Luke said, gently lifting his arm from around Luke’s shoulders. He slowly approached Gerard from the side, breaking away from Luke’s support. With his arm extended, Michael spoke softly to the him, letting the horse sniff his hand slightly. After receiving no sign that he was disliked, Michael began to pet Gerard’s shoulder.

“I like him,” Michael commented after a moment, eyes not straying from the horse’s side.

“It appears he likes you as well; he must have good taste,” Luke replied, watching Michael interact with the horse. “Gerard is the horse I ride when I travel from the castle.”

“Are you certain you won’t need to ride him, though?” Michael inquired, turning back over his shoulder to look at Luke.

“I wouldn’t have requested that you take him, should that be the case. I’m well acquainted with nearly all of the horses in these stables by now. If I need a horse, there will be many others for me to ride,” Luke reassured, smiling at Michael. “Gerard gets along well with the horses that the two men who are accompanying you have.”

“Who are those men?”

“Glyndwr, who is a skilled archer and will provide great support in the ranged combat you’re likely to experience at some point. I have great faith in his accuracy. And Evart, who is better suited as a close fighter, not unlike yourself, but his true skill lies in healing. Although he’s not graced with magic, Evart can create herbal remedies and tend to injuries. He’s well acquainted with the plant life of the forests.”

“That makes for a well-rounding group of men, I suppose,” Michael commented, greatly interested in meeting them both.

Michael felt Luke’s arm slip around his waist once more, assuming that it was to lead them from the stables. Without hesitation, Michael placed his arm over Luke’s shoulders and followed Luke from the stuffy, hay filled stables. When they reached the grass, Luke walked them over to one of the wooden fences that lined the fields for grazing so Michael could stand on his own.

“I do believe that the three of you will fight together well. I asked them to meet us here briefly at around this time, so I suspect they’ll be here shortly.”

True to his word, two men walked around the stables together a few moments later. One was taller than even Luke, a great mess of dark brown curls falling over his forehead with a pair of matching brown eyes. He was broad shouldered but lean, a friendly and excited smile on his face.

The other wore more of a neutral expression. He was just under Michael’s height and of a wider stature, yet it appeared that there was a great strength within him. He had close cropped hair a shade lighter than his partner’s and eyes a blue that was significantly paler than Luke’s. He looked apprehensive about their meeting. Once the two reached Michael and Luke, they sidled in next to them to allow all four men to face one another.

“My Lord,” the taller one said respectfully to Luke before turning towards Michael, clasping his shoulder in a friendly manner. “Michael, it’s lovely to finally meet you. Luke has told us both quite a lot about your abilities as a fighter, and we’re rather impressed.”

“This would be Glyndwr,” Luke said with a soft laugh, gesturing to the man who had just spoken. He then looked to the other man, who smiled faintly but said nothing. “And this is Evart.”

“We’re honored to be accompanying you on such an important quest,” Glyndwr commented, his kind nature quickly reassuring Michael. “There were many men who saw themselves fit for such a task, but we’re glad it was you who the king selected. You seem exceptionally worthy. Evart and I watched your duel with the king both those many days ago and the one earlier this afternoon. Your fighting technique is exceptional.”

“Thank you. And I’m glad Luke chose me as well,” Michael replied honestly, noticing the slight shift on both Glyndwr and Evart’s faces upon Michael addressing Luke by his first name. It appeared that not everyone was allowed to drop his formal title.

“The king told us that we were there to follow your instruction and to protect you, but it appears you’ll be the one protecting us instead,” Glyndwr continued, apparently unfazed by Michael’s comment.

“I was unaware that was the case,” Michael said, looking towards Luke for confirmation of such a fact. Luke merely shrugged in response.

“It was a matter of curtesy, I’m sure,” Glyndwr answered, a small smile forming on his lips. “Clearly Evart and I are the heroes of this story.”

“When you best the king in a duel, Glyn, I’ll believe we’re heroes,” Evart laughed, speaking for the first time. His voice was quiet but not unkind. “Look at how they both fared after their duel.”

“You both held your own rather nicely,” Glyndwr commented, nodding. He looked between the injuries on Luke’s and Michael’s faces. “It’s good to know our foes have formidable enemies.”

“I think there’s a difference between a good fighter and a formidable person, Glyndwr. Michael is hardly fearsome in other circumstances,” Luke interjected, hardly chastising.

“We’ve noticed. You seem like a kindhearted person, Michael,” Glyndwr replied.

“Thank you. I’m rather glad Luke selected you both to accompany me. We’ll all be heroes together,” Michael smiled. He glanced over to Luke to see that he was smiling as well.

“We’re flattered you think of us as such,” Glyndwr said with a hearty laugh. “I have faith that we’ll all be well suited for such a quest. With your swordsmanship, my archery, and Evart’s eclectic range of abilities, I have no doubt we’ll succeed.”

“‘Eclectic range of abilities,’” Evart quoted with a small laugh. “I’d quite like to think I offer more to our group than merely being eclectic.”

“You offer too many things for me to list out, Ev,” Glyndwr elaborated, a bright smile across his face. Evart just rolled his eyes in response. “Anyway, with the mention of this meeting only being a brief one, I’m sure the king has many great plans for the rest of the afternoon and evening, so Evart and I will leave you to that. Soon, though, we should discuss everything we’ll need to before our departure.”

“Of course,” Michael agreed, eager to start planning with Glyndwr and Evart as well. It would assuage any concerns if Michael knew what he was to expect on their journey. “I’m sure that will be within the next day or two. The wound on my face is nearly finished healing, so we’ll be leaving sooner rather than later.”

“It was lovely meeting you,” Evart said, eyes kind. Michael believed that although he was reserved and quiet, Evart was goodhearted.

“You as well,” Michael replied, smiling at Evart. “Both of you.”

“Thank you both for meeting us here,” Luke said, returning to the conversation. “I’ll ensure that the three of you meet to discuss tactics well before your departure.”

“Thank you as well, My Lord,” Glyndwr said, offering him a slight bow. “I’m glad that we three at least learned each other’s names before being thrown into battle together.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Luke replied earnestly. “If anything, I should thank you for the great assistance you’ll soon provide for the kingdom.”

With that, Glyndwr and Evart bowed slightly towards Luke again before leaving the way they came. Luke’s arm came to rest naturally around Michael’s waist before he started walking in the opposite direction. They passed behind the stables and to the south side of the castle.

Luke steered them towards a plain door on the side of the castle, hardly noticeable as it blended into the stone. The door let into a short corridor that opened into the castle’s great passages. They had barely made it down the passageway, though, before Luke turned through an open doorway. After a short time, they made their way up a spiral staircase and reached the place Luke had intended for them to go to.

Michael was met with a small room littered with fabrics and thread across tables and the floor. The room looked tinted blue from all the navy fabrics of the king’s seal scattered about. A small wooden platform was raised a few inches of the ground in the center of the room, appearing to be the only uncluttered surface. Towards the back of the room, an older woman with white hair sat hunched over in a chair, a great spread of fabric in her lap.

Luke knocked politely on the door, more formality than anything, before stepping slightly into the room. “Hester, may we come in?”

“Don’t ask for entrance if you’ve already entered, child,” Hester said without turning to look, sounding like a chastising mother. After a moment she straightened her posture slightly and turned around in her chair. “Who is this?”

“This is Michael, Hester. He’s here to be fitted for armor and clothing, remember?” Luke sighed wearily.

Michael was surprised at how Luke, despite him being the king, deferred to Hester; as the day passed Michael realized that it was uncommon for people to drop Luke’s formal title. Nevertheless, Luke looked pleased to see Hester. It appeared to Michael that Hester was almost like a motherly figure to Luke.

Hester turned back to what she had been working on, leaving Luke and Michael to linger in the doorway for a moment more. Michael eased the weight from his leg and leaned further into Luke’s side. He was somewhat concerned at how Luke would react; he didn’t want to be overbearing after all of the assistance Luke had shown him throughout the day. Luke simply moved his arm more securely around Michael’s waist, hugging Michael further into Luke’s side.

Hester finished up whatever she was sewing quickly, placing it on one of the less cluttered tables carefully before standing up to greet Michael and Luke. “Well come in, boys. I figured you realized I was teasing you, Luke, because you should know by now that you can intrude whenever you’d like.”

“I was being courteous,” Luke muttered, glaring at Hester slightly. There was a pout to his lips.

“Coming from the boy who has a bad habit of entering rooms without permission,” Hester responded, raising her eyebrows at Luke. Michael was exceptionally amused by the exchange between them, if a tad confused by their dynamic still.

“I’m the king, Hester!” Luke whined, Hester laughing as she busied herself looking through scraps of cloth. Luke leaned his head over to Michael, voice barely audible since he was so close, offering an explanation Michael greatly needed. “Hester is like family to me. She was one of few people in the castle who treated me kindly when my father was on his adventures, if you will. Ashton was here with us, as well. Hester prefers Ashton, which is why she chastises me incessantly.”

“Maybe I chastise you because I prefer you,” Hester suggested from the other end of the room. How she heard what Luke said, Michael didn’t know. “I might not be at the prime of my age, but my hearing hasn’t been lost yet.”

“Yes, you remind me frequently,” Luke sighed, rolling his eyes so only Michael could see.

“Let me see you, Michael, so I can figure what sizing you’ll need. What pieces were you looking for, again, Luke,” Hester asked, walking towards them with a tape measure in hand. Before she reached a close distance, she stopped in her tracks. “Lord, what happened to your faces. It looks like you’ve suffered a lost battle before even departing for one.”

“This happened from us dueling,” Michael explained simply, glancing to Luke’s lips. “In my defense, Luke told me not to restrain myself.”

“And you won another of our duels,” Luke commented. “It appears my teachings are working.”

“You succeeded in injuring one another and are complementing it,” Hester muttered, speaking her thoughts more for herself than Michael and Luke. “I’ll never understand the mindset of men. Michael, dear, come stand on this platform for me to take measurements.”

Luke led Michael over to the small wooden platform and helped him up onto it. Michael felt under great scrutiny by being a few inches taller than he normally was. Much to both Luke and Michael’s dismay, Hester shooed Luke from Michael’s side a moment later.

“How am I to take measurements if you’re constantly in my way? Go sit in my chair and stay there,” Hester insisted, pointing off to the chair behind her. Luke begrudgingly listened to her, sitting down heavily in the chair she had been sitting in when they reached her room. “Oh, stop your sighing, child. I’m certain Michael is able to stand on his own for a short while, right?”

Hester looked up Michael, who shot Luke a glace before responding. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Luke.”

From his place on the small platform, Michael could see Luke roll his eyes, making it difficult for Michael to not laugh; Hester didn’t seem to notice anything unordinary between them, or at least didn’t comment on it. Michael found it nice to see how open Luke was in front of Hester, even if he was displeased with her decisions.

Hester busied herself by drawing the measuring tape across the broadest part of Michael’s shoulders and around his chest, occasionally pushing past Luke to write various numbers she found on parchment. Michael had never been fitted for clothing before and found the entire experience to be slightly uncomfortable. Luckily, Luke had been making faces at him the entire time he stood up on the platform.

It felt odd to Michael, having Hester touch his wrist to indicate that he need to move his arm out to the side or when her fingers were near his neck to size a collar. He felt exposed. Hester taking her measurements wasn’t the same as when Luke was helping Michael to various places throughout the day. There wasn’t the same level of comfort.

Michael understood the necessity of being fit for armor, just as how he needed assistance walking for the latter half of the day, but he couldn’t understand why Luke was different. He thought that perhaps it was because he had known Luke longer than he had known Hester. Michael simply knew that Hester’s touch made him start back, while Luke’s had quite the opposite reaction. Perhaps Luke was special.

“Would you hold this across your hips, dear?” Hester asked, interrupting Michael’s thoughts. He was grateful that she was conscientious of where she was measuring.

Michael wrapped the tape haphazardly around his hips, unsure of where to put it. While he was fiddling with the measuring tape in an attempt to fix it – nearly dropping it in the process – Michael felt cold hands brush over his own. Startled slightly, Michael looked up from where his gaze was on the tape and saw Luke smoothing the fabric of the measuring tape so it wasn’t twisted.

“You have to lay it flat, first, otherwise it won’t give you the correct numbers. Then you need to hold it at your hips, not your waist,” Luke murmured quietly, guiding Michael’s hands down to his hipbone gently. “After being fitted for clothes for quite a while, you learn a lot.”

“Yes, you could be the next seamstress,” Hester muttered, swatting at Luke’s arm slightly. “But since _I’m_ the seamstress, let me do my job.”

Luke backed away, feigned fear across his face, and sat back down in his chair. Michael laughed slightly at how defeated Luke looked, earning a glare in response. Michael just wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“So you’re a seamstress and a bard, Luke. Quite the artistic career for such a well governing king,” Michael teased, waiting for Hester to finish measuring.

“I’ll be the best singing seamstress this kingdom will ever see,” Luke said proudly, playing along with Michael’s jokes.

“And the only one,” Michael added quietly.

“Then there’s no doubt I’ll be the best,” Luke smirked, challenging Michael to add another snide comment. After a moment a triumphant look came over his face.

A minute later, Hester patted Michael’s shoulder slightly to indicate that she was done taking measurements. Michael carefully walked to the edge of the small platform, Luke by his side before he had begun to step down. Michael was increasingly grateful for Luke’s assistance throughout the day.

“Now that I have these measurements, I can sew tunics and trousers and send for armor to be made. Given the great time constraint, it should only be a matter of a few days before everything is completely finished.”

“Thank you for all you have done for me, Hester,” Michael said, his statement earnest.

Hester smiled up at him. “There’s no need to thank me when you’ll be the one to save the kingdom.”

“And you’re the one who protected the kingdom’s savior,” Luke offered, removing his arm from Michael’s waist briefly to hug Hester. “We look forward to seeing you soon.”

“Don’t be sappy, Luke,” Hester laughed, shooing them both from the room. “But do make sure to visit more frequently than you have been. Bring Ashton with you, as well.”

Luke assured her that he would then left from the room, Hester quietly closing the door behind them. The hallway was quiet, the only sound being their footsteps slowly echoing down the spiral staircase. To Michael’s surprise, Luke led them back outside where dusk had already fallen. They walked a short distance before entering a small garden Michael had never seen before. It was exceptionally close to where Luke’s room was, yet tucked away between the walls of the castle.

They followed a short stone lined pathway, overgrown bushes and flowers brushing across their legs, before reaching a small stone bench. Flowering vines were creeping up the castle wall that was directly behind the bench, the purples and pale blues of the blossoms hardly noticeable in the deep navy of the night.

“We can get supper in due time,” Luke said softly, voice blending into the sounds of the night. “But I wanted to show you this first.”

Everything seemed so still and quiet, simply embodying a peacefulness Michael reveled in. The stone was cool beneath Michael’s legs, as was the soft breeze that danced across his face, but Luke’s arm was warm around him. Michael felt that he could stay there forever.

“This is where I go when I need to escape the rest of the world,” Luke whispered like it was a secret he wasn’t ready to share. “With the day you leave for your quest fast approaching, I anticipate that you’ll find good use of visiting here on occasion. It helps you feel like everything around you has disappeared; it feels like there’s only you for a short time.”

“Only us,” Michael corrected, voice barely audible.

“Only us,” Luke agreed, a faint smile falling across his lips. “I figured it would be a nice change to sit beneath the stars. Sometimes I sit here and think about the vastness of life, and how I’m but one piece of it. Sometimes it’s frightening to think of the futility of it all, but other times it’s nice to remember exactly that. My fears are so much smaller than the stars in the sky, every worry amounting to so little. It puts it into perspective.

“I might be frightened by not knowing and wondering what happens next, but sitting here, I know that it’s okay. There’s so much that I don’t know, but it’s alright to wait a little bit longer. The stars in the sky seem so small, but they’re so great in size. Sometimes I think that’s me.”

“It is calming, knowing that you’re just another star in the sky, another piece to a constellation,” Michael said, looking up to the deep blue dotted with the great span of white. He glanced down to where Luke was silhouetted against the navy of the sky. “I’ll always prefer the moon, though. How it’s so bright and beautiful, ever waxing and waning. The moon seems like it’s always changing, hiding in darkness, but it’s always beautiful.”

“You’re falling in love with it; how could you not prefer the moon?” Luke asked rhetorically, gaze falling to rest on Michael’s profile. “But the stars reassure me – reassure me to be myself. They give me hope that one day I, too, can shine like they do. And the stars’ light is so beautiful.”

Michael smiled, his gaze falling to where his legs disappeared into the deep blue of his surroundings. Perhaps Luke was right; the stars were beautiful too. Not quite like the moon, but they brought their own light into the world. Michael shifted on the bench, leaning into the warmth of Luke’s touch. They were but two pieces to the vast puzzle that was the night sky, bringing light to the darkening world, and Lord did they fit together perfectly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! This is the last one I can post before spring break is over, so it'll return to a chapter every week or so if I'm lucky. [This](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/141356231161/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) is the cover, aesthetic, moodboard doodad that I made for the chapter.
> 
> [This](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shagreen) is what Shagreen is. It's just a form of rawhide used to wrap the grip of swords. I can't promise there were specific measuring tapes in medieval times; I promise I looked though.
> 
> It would be lovely if you comment or give kudos. They're always very encouraging. I like to see feedback :)
> 
> Since it will be a while before I post a chapter, feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com) if you have any questions or even to say hi. It'd be great to hear from you all! Thanks, lovelies!


	5. i'll miss the one who's right here by my side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i've lost the moon_  
>  _while trying to count the stars_  
>  _i've lost my mind, but that's okay_  
>  _'cause i've been trying to fix my heart_  
>  -[I've Lost The Moon by SayWeCanFly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ggRuZd9DGQ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Luke smoothed his hands over Michael’s shoulders, slightly adjusting the way the deep blue of the collar on Michael’s tunic sat, his cold hands brushing Michael’s skin. He was wearing a well-stitched tunic, the soft fabric dyed the navy of the king’s crest. Once Luke deemed it properly centered, he let his hands slip down Michael’s arms until they fell to rest at his side. Michael nodded his thank you, saying nothing so as not to disrupt the pleasantness of the quiet surrounding them.

They were standing in Luke’s chambers just to the side of the door that led into the hallway, the pale midafternoon light filtering in through the room’s great windows to saturate the world around them. The stone felt cold beneath Michael’s bare feet, the sun hardly seeping at its chill, but the air was the comfortable temperature of a spring day. Luke’s hands still left trails of ice down Michael’s arms. It mirrored the sense of anticipation hanging in the air, cold feet and shivers running down Michael’s back.

Michael tugged at the long sleeves of his tunic, most likely shifting the way its neckline rested over his shoulders once again. Laughing softly, Luke just handed him a pair of leggings and leather boots, leaving it be. Michael quickly slipped the leggings on over his feet, pulling them up to where his trousers fell to the middle of his calf, before stepping into the boots.

All of the clothes Michael was wearing were significantly better than anything he had ever worn. Luke’s insisting on Michael having outfits of such quality – the detail put into selecting clothing that would help him on his quest – would never cease to surprise him. Michael’s tunic and trousers were of a thickly woven fabric, and his boots were made of the finest leather. He was almost frightened to set foot outside lest he ruin everything.

Michael felt Luke’s fingers prod gently at his side, instinctively recoiling at the touch. Luke simply laughed at him, smiling fondly nonetheless.  Resting on one of his arms was a hauberk, the small rings of metal creating a bright but muffled sound as Luke shifted around slightly.

“You might want a little help for this,” Luke offered, voice soft as he found the opening of the chainmail tunic so Michael could easily slip it over his head.

With Luke holding the hauberk open, Michael effortlessly slipped his arms through the chainmail, it falling to rest over his shoulders. Luke made quick word to adjust the neckline and coif of the hauberk as well, Michael meanwhile took to fixing his sleeves. The chainmail sleeves only fell to just below his elbow, causing those of his tunic to bunch up.

Luke then quickly began the task of fastening pieces of plate armor across more vulnerable places on Michael’s chest, carefully pulling the bindings tightly so the armor fit securely, before handing Michael a dark leather belt to encircle his waist.

“Now all that’s left,” Luke trailed, pulling a long navy cloak off of the dresser positioned against the wall. He wrapped his arms around Michael, pulling him close to fit the great piece of wool under the chainmail of the coif before fastening the circular broach that held it on. Luke placed his hands lightly on Michael’s shoulders to admire his handiwork. “You look fit to be a king.”

“We both know that I am of no class to be a king,” Michael said with an amused laugh, stepping back to smooth his hands down the front of his chainmail; he could feel the small rings of metal shift beneath his touch. Michael was wearing quite a lot of layers, and he wasn’t particularly used to it. “This is rather heavy. I’m not entirely sure I’ll be used to wearing this for an indefinite period of time.”

“I feel certain you’ll get used to it in good time,” Luke commented softly, busying himself by beginning to change into his own more formal attire. “But perhaps you’ll return before you’re ever fully adjusted. A simple notion, but a small hope to keep in mind.”

“One can always hope,” Michael agreed, turning around as Luke pulled off his tunic and dropped it to the floor, a tunic matching the color of Michael’s folded on the dresser. Michael remained facing the other direction, admiring birds as they flitted in front of the windows; Michael would never tire of the view Luke’s windows offered. After a short passage of time, Luke stepped up next to him, his shoulder brushing Michael’s.

“Hope goes a long way,” Luke muttered, gaze straying to Michael’s face. “Your injury healed nicely.”

Michael brought his hand up to his cheek, fingers tracing the small, raised white line that blended into the fairness of his skin. With the fading of his wounds, the day Michael was to leave approached quickly until it was nearly upon him. “Yours are nearly there as well.”

Luke smiled at him. The pale purples and blues of his many bruises were almost completely faded. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Not particularly,” Michael sighed, walking towards the window to watch as the birds continued to dart over the great city beneath them. Michael admired their carefree flight through the air.

With the eve of Michael’s leaving already here, Luke proposed a great feast; he wanted both a grand way to say goodbye to Michael, Glyndwr, and Evart prior to them leaving, and he wanted to honor the men who had offered to fight for the kingdom.

While the notion was well-favored, Michael didn’t fancy an event with so many attendees whom he’d never met before. Michael didn’t fancy the idea of many well thought of men celebrating not his accomplishments, but how they weren’t the ones sent to their deaths. There was little honor in never returning from a quest.

“Nor am I,” Luke admitted after a moment, earning a laugh from Michael.

“That coming from the one who advocated for such an event in the first place.”

“There’s quite a stark difference between realizing the importance of the statement made by holding this feast and actually enjoying attending it,” Luke argued, looking pointedly at Michael. “I dislike most of the men who were invited to the event just as much as you do, as well as the premise in which this is being held. I promise.”

“I believe you,” Michael consented, still amused at Luke’s decision. “But pray tell, what is this statement?”

“That men of a lower class hold just as much important as those in the upper class see in themselves, but the nobles shan’t be forgotten. At least, they won’t think they’re forgotten. There are a great many who know that the nobles hold no true benefit to society.”

“Ah, so you’re remembering their petty offerings so as not to wound their ineffectual souls, knowing full well their position merely holds namesake and monetary merit?”

“Precisely,” Luke smiled, apparently pleased at how Michael understood exactly what he was saying.

“Well, I suppose being on the knowing end of the ridicule behind such a feast will give me reason to begrudgingly attend.”

“Otherwise it’s for you,” Luke said softly, nearly at the same time as Michael’s statement.

A blush fell over Michael’s cheeks, his gaze falling to the pale grey stone of the floor. Before he had the opportunity to respond, he heard the door to Luke’s chambers open.

Turning, Michael saw Calum and Ashton step in. Ashton looked tall and lean, the set of his formal wear over his shoulders elongating the lines of his body. His tunic fit him well, simpler than what Michael and Luke were wearing, yet with detailed embroidery along the neckline. Michael thought Calum looked exceptionally striking next to Ashton, his dress rather similar but complementary. While Ashton’s tunic was slate in color with navy embroidery, Calum’s was inverted. Michael was endeared by how they looked, but especially by how happy Calum appeared to be.

“You two are dressed so similarly,” Ashton commented, a smile passing over his face.

“That being said by you,” Luke countered, gesturing between Ashton and Calum’s tunics. “It appears such style of dress isn’t uncommon.”

“Oh, hush yourself,” Ashton shushed, making to press his hand over Luke’s mouth. “Enough of these inane comments.”

Upon seeing Luke shy away from Ashton’s advances, nearly running from where the four of them had been standing in a group, Michael began to laugh, Calum joining in not a moment later. Luke and Ashton were running amok like small children, the passivity of Luke’s kingly nature abandoning him completely.

“No wonder you get along with Ashton so well,” Michael commented, watching as Ashton continued to taunt Luke, an amused laugh rising from his chest. “You both find the happiness in such dire situations.”

“Is that not what you’re supposed to do? How else is one to cope?” Calum wondered, eyes falling to rest on Michael now rather than Ashton. “The only way we can add happiness to such a desolate world is by creating it ourselves.”

Michael smiled at Calum, face soft yet sad as he was so overcome with emotion. He couldn’t fathom what he would do without Calum there by his side, without Calum’s optimism overshadowing the cynicism he felt overcome him. He couldn’t fathom leaving Calum’s side either, and yet it was happening within a day. Oh, did Michael wish he could prevent that from happening, but he knew the greatness he needed to embody for others’ sake.

Sensing the sudden shift in Michael’s demeanor, Calum wordlessly wrapped his arms around Michael. The embrace was reassuring, Calum’s warmth soothing his worried soul. After a moment, Michael felt another pair of arms wrap around his back, strong but gentle. Michael was somewhat confused but greatly appreciated it.

“Luke, come over here,” Michael heard Ashton’s voice chastise softly from above his head. After a brief moment, Michael felt as Luke wrapped flush around Michael’s back, joining their embrace.

Nothing quite meant more to Michael than that moment – he had never felt more loved. Michael would never be more grateful for how much Luke and Ashton cared for him and Calum, how the two so quickly sought to help them, despite their knowing each other for such a brief period of time. The unquestioning willingness to offer everything meant more to Michael than he could ever express.

Eventually their embrace crumbled away, leaving a lingering warmth to Michael that he hoped never faded. There was a heaviness to his heart, an overwhelming sadness at leaving the other three. He wasn’t quite sure he would ever be ready for such a notion. Michael simply wished he would return just as quickly as it took him to leave.

“We’ll miss you too, Mikey, so much,” Calum murmured softly, almost as though he knew exactly what Michael had been thinking. “But we know you’ll come back to us. We know that another day you’ll be back in our arms, that time hugging you in happiness of your return.”

“And I trust that you won’t be gone for too long. Surely you wouldn’t make me suffer with the hugs of Calum and Luke for much longer,” Ashton joked, keeping the mood light.

“Hey,” Calum exclaimed, shoving Ashton away slightly. He looked genuinely offended, a pout seizing his lips. Ashton’s amused expression fell soft upon noticing Calum’s reaction.

Michael looked over to Luke who offered a kind smile, though the brightness in his eyes had faded to a dim blue; seeing such a pained look painted across Luke’s face brought sorrow to Michael’s heart. He never wished Luke to be anything but happy. Michael decided he should enquire after why Luke seemed so upset, but was interrupted before he was given the opportunity to do so.

“Michael, there’s something I’d like you to do for me,” Luke said, the steeled nature of his voice making its return, the kingly façade being slowly built up again. Concern as to Luke’s wellbeing flooded Michael. “I wish that you would go to visit a seer before our feast starts. She inquired after you visiting, which one can hardly refuse. Ashton offered to take you there, and we can then enter the feast together afterwards. Perhaps she can find reassurance that you quest will go well.”

“Of course,” Michael replied earnestly, content to assuage Luke’s and likely Calum and Ashton’s growing fears over his safety. While Michael wasn’t entirely sure as to whether or not he wanted to have insight on the outcome of his quest, he would gladly learn it for the sake of others.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Ashton said, sweeping his arm grandly towards the door, causing Michael to laugh at the gesture. “Don’t laugh. This is a very serious matter, Michael.”

“Of course it is,” Michael replied with disbelief. “I’ll make sure to inform Luke of that after we wreak havoc across the castle. Heaven forbid he know we accidentally ruin his tapestries.”

“If you ruin The Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries, you’ll certainly die,” Luke said, glaring between Michael and Ashton. There was a tint of amused light in his eyes that pleased Michael greatly.

“And here I was thinking that I was venturing to learn my fate, yet you had the answers this entire time,” Michael said, smiling fleetingly at Luke. “Bard, seamstress, _and_ seer. That’s quite the repertoire you have.”

“Off you go,” Luke laughed, hand shoving against Michael’s chest to push him towards Ashton. “You have quite the task to accomplish before our feast, and Calum and I shall have great times occupying ourselves in the meantime.”

“We will?” Calum asked rather abruptly, eyes wide as though he hadn’t any idea of such a notion.

“What else are we to do? Sit in silence waiting for them to come back? That’s a rather tragic way to carry out the day,” Luke said, voice growing thin.

“We must have significantly more fun than they do,” Ashton whispered rather loudly to Michael, quite intent on the others overhearing.

“I thought that was already agreed upon,” Michael laughed, slowly making his way towards the door that led to the castle’s hallways.

“We’ll meet with you before the feast starts so we can make our way in together,” Ashton said to Luke and Calum, reaffirming the sole reason for their earlier conversation.

After Ashton spoke, Michael was pulled from the room without the chance for a fleeting glance behind him, Ashton’s sudden eagerness resulting in a quickness to their step. They tread through the hallways wordlessly, Ashton leading Michael through the castle for much longer than he had anticipated. Michael couldn’t fathom why a seer would reside in such an esteemed place as the castle, regardless of any reputation they might have.

“Where are we going, Ashton?” Michael inquired after a moment, his surroundings familiar but still unknown in his mind.

“The kitchens,” Ashton replied cheerfully, the lightness in his step easily translated into his voice as well.

“That is decidedly not a seer, unless I’ve been severely mistaken as to where seers are employed.”

“I decided to detour from our intended destination slightly,” Ashton elaborated, speech quick and bright. “There’s a feast tonight, which means the cooks are preparing the best foods they might make for quite a long time.”

“And you’re planning to sneak into the kitchen to take food you’ll be offered in just a few short hours?” Michael wondered, exceptionally confused. “There seems to be a breach in your logic, Ash.”

“I merely enjoy sampling the deserts,” Ashton shrugged, a guilty smile on his face. “It’s all in the interest of Luke’s safety, of course. Surely the king can’t fall victim to any tainted foods.”

“Oh, of course. I admire your dedication to your king,” Michael laughed, playing along with Ashton’s amusements. After a moment an air of seriousness returned. “I also admire your cheerfulness.”

“If I don’t keep a lightness to life here, who will? Luke’s worries become terribly overwhelming to him, and there are few who can lighten his mood. His grasp on hope grows loose sometimes, but I’ll always be there to catch him when he slips. Poetic, but I care for him greatly.”

“I do hope that you continue to look out for him whilst I’m away; sometimes it feels as though I can bring out a genuine smile from his sad eyes, and I dearly wish for that to continue until there’s hardly any sadness left,” Michael admitted quietly, adding to the heaviness to the emotions already experienced throughout the day. It seemed as though his feet shuffled with the graveness of their conversation.

“You do bring out such great happiness from him, Michael, so much so that I can hardly match it. I wish greatly for him to feel as such always. I have faith that he will, though,” Ashton replied, his kind eyes meeting Michael’s. It seemed as though there was a world of silent understanding hung between them.

“Despite all of his teasing, Luke cares for you very much,” Michael said, a vain attempt at a lighter conversation.

“What teasing?” Ashton inquired, quirking his eyebrow slightly at Michael. He seemed to genuinely not know. “Michael Clifford, I won’t hesitate to go request that Luke force you to tell me.”

“I merely meant in general,” Michael said, feigning innocence as he muffled his slight laughter. “But Luke is the one who is incessantly teased about being a bard; perhaps he’d better explain the idea in its entirety rather than myself.”

Ashton hummed, not necessarily in agreement.

“But he does care greatly for you,” Michael continued, his tone earnest. “Luke has mentioned many great things about you. He really does need you to catch him when he falls.”

“Luke grows rather worried about everything that’s happening around him: the great dragon, ruling, the state of his kingdom, even simple things that seem so vast in size to him. I always fear for his health. It looks like he’s carrying the world on his shoulders, trying to keep it from crumbling to dust without any help from others.” Ashton stopped at the end of the hallway, looking up to Michael. There was a soberness about him that was rarely seen on his cheerful face. “It’s nice to see that nowadays he isn’t the only one supporting such stresses. He needs you, Mikey, more than he’s ever willing to admit.”

“Willing to admit?” Michael repeated, turning it into a question. He didn’t quite understand the nature behind Ashton’s statement.

“He’s placed so much into you, Michael – trust, faith, and even more beyond that. Luke fears the consequences of such drastic actions; he’s afraid of what will come of it all. Luke just needs to realize that his actions won’t always cause repercussions. You’re a good man, and Luke knows that.”

“You’re a good man, as well,” Michael replied, voice soft. He was trying to deflect some of the praise away from himself. While a warmth fluttered down his spine at Ashton’s words, the attention caused Michael to reflect on what he was told, and he hadn’t the time for such things.

“Michael I–” Ashton began, a laugh filled with disbelief almost rising from his chest until Michael cut it off.

“Don’t disagree, Ashton. You are a good man, and I will wholeheartedly believe that for the rest of my life. You saved Calum’s life – he cares for you just as much as Luke and I do – but you also gave him reassurance that there was hope in the world. Look at the happiness he imbues. You gave Calum a hope that he couldn’t find anywhere else. You were both flames in the seeping darkness, and was he so glad to find such light. You gave him back his happiness, Ashton,” Michael said, looking pointedly at Ashton to ensure that he believed every word Michael spoke. A smile graced Michael’s lips ever so slightly, eyes bright as he looked up to Ashton. “Poetic, but he cares for you greatly.”

“Surely you did not just repeat what I said earlier,” Ashton said, voice heavier than the lightness of his statement. He seemed moved by what Michael said.

“Oh, but I did,” Michael replied, playing along for Ashton’s sake. Michael wasn’t sure he would fare well should the rest of his day continue with such grave emotion.

“And to think I was going to get sweet foods from the kitchens for you, as well,” Ashton muttered, almost as though he was reconsidering his previous decision. A moment passed of just footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. “I do believe you, though, Michael. I just hope you believe what I said as well.”

Michael did. He knew that Ashton’s promise was hardly an empty one, but he didn’t commit to it nearly as much as Ashton would have liked, though. It would take quite a great amount of time for Michael to believe that so many thought of him as a good man without any equivocation.

He was a simply a man. Greatness wasn’t a quality Michael thought he embodied; not on his own, anyway. It was others who instilled the greatness in Michael – they put so much faith and trust into him as though they knew assuredly he embodied security and dependability. But Michael was merely being himself, and others saw such redeeming qualities in him.

He was simply a blank canvas; it was others who turned him into a masterpiece. Perhaps he belonged in the hallway amongst the rest of plain things Luke saw beauty in. Perhaps one day he would be artist enough to paint himself into a masterpiece.

“Shh,” Ashton shushed, ironically loud. Michael was pulled from his thoughts, confused since he had hardly made a sound. “Two desserts shall disappear from the kitchen in a few moments, and we can’t very well be caught.”

Michael rolled his eyes at Ashton’s theatrics, tentatively following after him as Ashton quietly slipped into the kitchens. He didn’t quite know why Ashton was being so secretive about his taking food – surely relations to the king would gain a degree of power – yet Ashton made sure to keep from being noticed by others in the room.

Ashton neared a vast counter that had an extensive spread of various baked and fried items. Michael feared the size of the feast Luke proposed upon seeing so much food prepared. Looking carefully at his many options, Ashton appeared to pick up two krapfen from the countertop. Ashton then quickly hurried back towards the door, shooing Michael out of the kitchen.

Once they were successfully a corridor down from the kitchens, Ashton handed Michael one of the krapfen, still warm from being fried. Michael had never eaten such a delicacy, the treat costing a great amount of money to even purchase. It was one of the many foods Michael and Calum had looked longingly at for a great portion of their life. Taking a bite, Michael was surprised at the sweetness of the strawberry jam filling. Every time he was offered foods he had never had the opportunity to even consider eating, Michael was ever grateful to try it.

“You act as though you’ve never had a krapfen,” Ashton commented, finally leading them outside and towards the seer they were to see. He looked to Michael, an amused look on his face.

“I haven’t,” Michael replied, brushing the sugar from his fingers.

“If only you spent more time with me instead of Luke,” Ashton trailed, the dramatics to his voice sounding as though it was a tragic event. “I bring Calum heaps of sweet foods.”

“I’m well aware. He quite appreciates you more than his own brother at times,” Michael joked, not too bothered by the notion.

“I can hardly fathom that; he loves you dearly,” Ashton replied, not playing along with Michael’s amusements.

“I know,” Michael agreed, smiling. “Why do you sneak around the castle as though being caught will result in exile?”

“It merely makes it fun,” Ashton replied, an enthusiasm in his voice. “Why not tiptoe through the halls, slip around corners, and make a game of it all? It adds excitement to a monotonous life.”

“Do you run through the halls with Calum?”

“Perhaps,” Ashton said after a moment, a slight blush to his cheeks. “I figured if he’s well enough to rest outside he can accompany me on my adventures to the kitchen.”

“Adventures,” Michael quoted, soft laughter filling him. “Your delights never cease to amuse me.”

“I suppose that’s not a bad thing then,” Ashton said, visible relief flooding him.

Michael smiled in answer; Ashton’s liveliness would always bring happiness to Michael.

A silence then fell around them, a contentment with each other’s presences. They walked beyond the castle’s open gates and onto the high streets that flanked the king’s grounds. Many wealthy people lived in such an area, their buildings great and expensively made. Ashton wove their way through the nobles cluttered in the narrow streets until he reached a smaller building with few people around it.

The wood of the walls was afflicted by dampness, looking brittle and soft to make for a dilapidated home. Michael was endeared by it though, knowing full well that despite its lack of any true beauty in its appearance it was still a quaint place to visit – not special on first glance, but it still had redeeming qualities. Michael loved things that embodied such uniqueness. Perhaps that was why he never experienced malcontent at living in his poorly built cottage.

They stepped onto a small porch of wood, uncharacteristic of the rest of the street filled with stone, the boards creaking beneath their feet. Upon reaching the door, Ashton raised his arm to door with intentions of knocking but it opened before his knuckles came into contact with it.

Before them was an ethereal and warm colored woman who appeared to be exceptionally frail yet she seemed to embody strength. Deep red fabric was draped over her narrow shoulders, billowing out to the floor, her dark brown hair cascading to her shoulders. To Michael she looked kind yet out of place in the world.

“You’re Michael,” she said softly, eyes wide as she looked up to Michael. Her statement was more of a fact than a question.

“I am,” Michael confirmed, amazed at how she knew his name.

The woman stepped away from the door and gestured that Michael and Ashton should come inside. Once they had entered, she carefully pressed the door shut. Wordlessly, she went about directing Ashton towards a small sofa to sit on, before leading Michael to a table centered in the room.

As he sat down, Michael looked around, admiring the richness of the colors in woman’s home. Great rugs were resting atop the greying floors, their color matching the walls that were slowly falling to ruin. The furniture was dark in color, stained to a deep brown. Various items were scattered over every surface: vast tapestries, crystals, stones, and other things Michael couldn’t begin make out. The eclectic quality of his surroundings made it rather interesting to view.

The sound of chair legs scraping over the floorboards drew Michael’s focus away from his surroundings and back to the woman who had sat across from him. With a slight glance to Ashton, Michael saw that he was doing his best to occupy himself.

“I’m Yvette,” the woman said, maintaining firm eye contact with Michael. “You’re leaving to fight the dragon tomorrow before dawn, and I’m going to see if your quest will have bountiful outcomes.”

Michael opened his mouth to thank Yvette for her gracious offer, but before he could say anything she continued to explain how their afternoon would continue. While Michael was pleased to be told what they would be doing, he felt as though he was being rude.

“I’m going to employ methods of lithomancy,” Yvette explained, voice barely audible. As she was speaking she placed a candle in the center of the table and a small canvas bag next to it. “There are 13 stones in this bag, each one marked for the sun, planets, elements, and aspects of life. You’ll draw three from the bag and place them around the base of the candle. From there I’ll see what messages the stones imbue.”

Michael nodded in agreement, watching as Yvette lit the candle’s wick, casting smoke into the dark air. It didn’t seem to be a particularly difficult task on his part. After the candle was sufficiently burning, Yvette presented her canvas bag to him. Averting his eyes, Michael pulled out three cool stones and placed them in his palm.

Looking at the engravings, all of the smooth stones had thin circles upon them. One of the stones had a single point placed in the center of the circle. The other two had crosses on them, one placed inside the circles bounds while the other rested directly below the circle. After admiring the etches, Michael centered them around the candle so they were spaced evenly.

Yvette folded her hands over the top of the table and closed her eyes, her head dipping forward slightly. Michael was unsure of how long they were to sit in the thick air of the room, watching as Yvette rested motionless, but he dared not move. He looked over to Ashton who merely shrugged in response, the unknown elapse of time seeming to cause him slight concern.

A few moments later, though, Yvette opened her eyes widely, staring at the stones encircling the candle. She looked like she had been struck by some force that Michael couldn’t see. Perhaps she had been. Eventually her posture fell lax, her shoulders falling as air left from her nose. She looked up to Michael, her cheeks pink as though it was a strenuous activity. Michael looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to reveal what she ascertained.

“The three stones you selected,” Yvette began, sliding them across the tabletop with her fingertips. She set them in a row between them. “The first is the Sun, which tells of your energy and life. Upon being placed around the candle it gave off a grey light, which foretells calamities and evil being sent your way.

“The second stone you chose was the Earth, which embodied green reflections. The earth tells of the people you view as home, while green suggests success and wishes will come true. For a brief moment it looked as though the stone grew violet, but it quickly turned to green. Violet conveys sorrow in the future.

“The last stone, Venus, grew to become red. Venus tells of your love and happiness, as does red. It’s quite fitting that the two went together.”

“What do such stones and colors mean?” Michael inquired, not understanding much of what he was told.

“The grey light from the Sun gives insight into the outcome of your quest. It won’t make for an easy task, and you mightn’t like what happens on your journey – you’re going to face the greatest enemy of these lands. But the green Earth foretells success. You will likely end up victorious against _Ardens Anguis_ , and those whom you consider to be family will have many wishes in regards to the quest come true. That won’t take away from the hardships you’ll experience. It’s Venus that causes such sights to grow blurred. Love could come from a great many people in your life. It’s for you to discover whom Venus is referring to.”

Michael nodded with every new statement Yvette offered, yet he didn’t take much away from what she had said. Her conclusions were filled with vagueness and contradictions that he couldn’t follow, and while no outcome suggested failure or death upon the fight with the great dragon, none of his fears had been assuaged. There was simply more confusion than there had been before.

“Thank you, Yvette,” Ashton said, standing up and approaching her kindly. “I’m certain we will all be at great ease knowing of your insights.”

Michael agreed with Ashton, politely shaking Yvette’s hand with both of his own, but any sentiments held little value behind them. There was another side to all that Yvette had said, but Michael was the one to discover what she meant; meeting with her did little in serving the purpose it was supposed to. Perhaps there was worth to what she said, but Michael couldn’t piece together the complexities she offered.

They gave their goodbyes then left the stuffy house, the door falling shut as they stepped back onto the cobbles of the street. Michael was pleased to be in the cool air tunneling through the narrow street as opposed to the stagnant air of Yvette’s home. While he found her to be nice, he wasn’t upset to leave.

After walking up the street in silence for a bit, passing out of the great numbers of people and back onto the sparsely filled grounds of the castle, Ashton slowed his pace until he stopped entirely. Michael did the same, his visage inquiring after why Ashton ceased his walking.

“That was quite the experience,” Ashton began, clearly leading in to his purpose.

“Yes,” Michael trailed, agreeing but questioning.

“Her insight is something you should share sparingly,” Ashton explained, looking to Michael with a worried expression. “While Yvette didn’t tell us anything grave, there were still things that could arouse concern. Just be careful what you say, Mikey.”

“You’re trying to say I need to be gentle in how I tell Luke and Calum about the likely hardships and sorrow of those I care for,” Michael elaborated, his voice heavy.

“Exactly,” Ashton said, a similar sadness to his own voice.

Michael sighed, fully prepared to agree to the notion before burying all malcontent towards it deep within himself. Before he could even consider such a reaction though, Ashton quickly pulled him into an embrace, arms tight around his shoulders. Michael wrapped his arms around Ashton’s waist, desperate for the comfort.

He had tried his best to remain unaffected as the days to his departure neared, and he had been doing well up until this point. Michael had gone over plans with Glyndwr and Evart, familiarized himself with Gerard, continued to develop his swordsmanship, spent time with Calum, furthered his friendship with Luke and Ashton – he had accomplished so much and seemed so content with it too.

But Michael felt like he was broken inside; he felt as though there were shards of shattered glass within him, and he had to do everything to keep them contained. Michael was frightened to leave people he cared for behind, to go into a battle he would never be prepared for, but he knew he needed to. So he had to keep the glass within him; he had to protect everyone else from the wounds he was feeling. But it was growing increasingly difficult to hide behind thinning façades.

Michael appreciated Ashton’s quickness to pick up on Michael’s nuanced changes in his mood. His instinctiveness to comfort Michael would never go unnoticed. Ashton’s heart was kind, and it meant the world to Michael to be so loved.

“Thank you,” Michael whispered, hugging Ashton tightly for a moment before pulling away. He never would have realized how much a simple gesture would ease his weary soul.

“Surely it’s extremely difficult to mask such fears, especially over such a great quest as this one, purely for the sake of others,” Ashton said softly, looking up to Michael with sad eyes. “You could even whisper fleetingly that you don’t wish to go on this quest anymore and Luke would be adamant about you staying, but you wouldn’t. You’re scared more than you’ve ever been, but you’re the hero you say you’re not. You want to save the innocent people who have suffered for far too long.

“We’ve said it before and we’ll be saying it long after you’ve ventured beyond the kingdom’s boarders, but you are a hero, Mikey. We know you’ll be successful in all of this. We have faith in you, and while it’s not an easy task, you should have some faith in yourself as well.”

“I’m working on it,” Michael replied softly. “Unceasing fears are hardly something I can quell immediately, but I’m trying. Having Glyndwr and Evart by my side will help greatly.”

“There are many by your side to support you, and you have the strength to do this as well,” Ashton said, his encouragement doing wonders for Michael. “What I mentioned before was more that no one needs added worry over such fleeting notions as those told to us by a seer. Knowledge of hardships will not bode well for Luke, and Calum too, I’m sure.”

“I agree,” Michael said after a moment, heaving a great sigh but feeling better than he did before. Ashton’s logical approach to such trifling worries smoothed over Michael’s concerns.

“See,” Ashton said, raising his eyebrows as if to punctuate his statement. “Now we should hurry back before the feast starts. Luke is probably irritating Calum greatly with his pacing and wondering where we are.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Luke was actually doing that,” Michael laughed, smiling genuinely.

“Oh, he is,” Ashton replied, starting up their walk back to the castle once more.

They reached Luke’s chambers in a brief period of time, walking in to find Calum resting in a chair and Luke standing in the middle of the room. He stood rather awkwardly, his feet tipped into an odd position as though he had been walking away from the door yet heard it open and pivoted towards the sound. A visible sigh seized Luke’s body before his posture relaxed and he walked towards Ashton and Michael.

“Your timing was rather close,” Luke said, subtle chastisement in his voice.

“We were preoccupied running amok through the castle, of course,” Michael explained as though it was common knowledge.

“You did not,” Luke replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, but we did,” Michael said, looking to Ashton who merely offered a noncommittal shrug. “But it’s too late to stop our frolicsomeness. Don’t we have a feast to attend to?”

Luke made a face at Michael’s antics, but nevertheless started towards the door and led them towards the dining hall. Michael had never been to that area of the castle, much to his surprise, but he grew to learn that it was used merely for formal affairs.

The doorway into the hall was flanked by two enclosed braziers of great size with fire burning out of their tops. The hallway was bathed in the yellow light from the fire, while the setting sun filtered in the same burning color into the room.

Luke motioned for Michael to step by his side before they entered the room together, Calum and Ashton a short distance behind them. Michael was surprised to see that many men were already sat at the two long tables on either side of the room. As he passed through the aisle created by the men, a blush fell over his cheeks. Michael didn’t fancy being under such scrutiny.

After sitting themselves down respectively at the table facing the rest of the room, Michael and Luke taking the center while Ashton sat to Luke’s left and Calum to Michael’s right, Luke stood up and a hush fell over the room. There was still a slight murmur from those who were too indifferent to cease their conversations.

“I’d like to welcome you all to the castle,” Luke said, his voice loud and commanding like how it was when Michael had first met Luke. “Thank you for coming for such an occasion. I will have more to say, but not before we eat good food and drink good wine. Please, enjoy your meals.”

With Luke’s brief introduction finished, the nobles resumed their loud conversations, voices echoing throughout the walls. Meanwhile, a great many servants and kitchen staff came in through side doors bearing platters heaped with various meats and prepared produces.

Michael looked down at his plate, surprised by the great array of cutlery, only to find that seasoning and bread was offered to each diner as well. He anticipated a great amount of food that he would hardly begin to finish all of.

“You’re growing pallid,” Luke commented, an amused lilt to his words.

“This is quite a lot of food for such an event,” Michael said, looking as the staff placed down food before him. “Is it not immoral to tempt such gluttony?”

“If there’s enough wine in a man, he won’t be moved by such things,” Luke replied, raising his goblet to Michael slightly. “Granted, I can’t fathom drinking as much as these men will no doubt do.”

“But this is all for our amusement, yes? We’ll certainly experience great enjoyments upon witnessing their follies in character after they imbibe such amounts of wine.”

“It’s for you, Mikey,” Luke said softly, eyes averted as he placed his goblet back onto the wooden table.

“Which does nothing in disproving what I said, so let us eat, drink, and make merry at the entertainments provided by the nobles,” Michael said, an excitement building up in him. He had nothing left to lose, so why not try for happiness.

“If that’s what you wish for,” Luke muttered, amused by Michael’s sudden enthusiasm. He picked up his knife and began to put food on his plate.

“Fuck,” Michael heard Calum whisper, eyes wide at seeing such food.

“It’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” Michael commented, tentatively tearing off a piece of his bread to eat. “We always eat bread, yet here we’re offered so much more.”

“It is a lot,” Calum replied, looking over to Michael. “Now I’m to decide what takes precedent, so I can try it before I grow too full.”

“Your priorities are astounding,” Michael laughed, reaching over to pick up an apple.

The feast carried on quickly, Michael carefully picking and choosing what foods he ate. He started with fruits and vegetables first, while slowing breaking off pieces from his bread, then had a small portion of pork before being too full to eat much more. Luke seemed to be faring just as well as Michael, his plate pushed slightly away from him to indicate that he had finished.

Michael simply sat at the table sipping his wine, engaging in light conversation with the other three at the table. He was amused at how despite being sat the furthest away from one another, Calum and Ashton still maintained great conversation, laughter from both men echoing throughout the room.

The air was warm and Michael could feel his cheeks tinting pink from the temperature and the wine. Luke’s cheeks grew rosy as well, deepening in color each time Michael looked over towards him. Michael smiled fondly each time while Luke turned his face away. After a few times of Luke averting his gaze, Michael brushed his knuckles against Luke’s hand to get his attention, his expression trying to suggest that there was no reason for Luke to grow embarrassed.

Once the men had finished eating, all plates nearly emptied of food, their conversations returned, loud and drunken voices filling the room. Slurred and shouted words reached Michael’s ears, the noise overwhelming but pleasantly distracting. Luke let the conversations carry on for a while before he stood once more, waiting for the men to quell their speaking.

“Now that we are all well fed, I’d like to take this moment to thank a great many people. Firstly, all of you who offered to fight to defend our kingdom. Your willingness to end such fires that plague these lands will never be forgotten,” Luke began, sweeping his hand to recognize the nobles who were sat before him. Loud cheering in agreement to Luke’s statement sounded throughout the room.

Michael barely choked down laughter, amused at how Luke chose to recognize the nobles and their response to such. He quickly coughed and covered his mouth with his hands, tinting pink upon feeling Luke kick at his leg slightly.

“I also need to thank Michael, who will soon be the hero of these lands,” Luke continued, looking over to where Michael was sitting. “As well as Glyndwr and Evart who will be accompanying him. They will do right by our kingdom, and save the lives of countless men, women, and children.”

With that statement, the nobles seemed less enthused, but near the entrance to the room, Glyndwr and a few other knights cheered loudly, hefting their goblets into the air. Meanwhile, Evart shrunk his shoulders in, attempting to dissociate himself from the others he was sitting with. After a moment Evart started to shush their rowdiness.

“Now please, intermingle,” Luke said, amused laughter filling his voice. “Don’t be bound by such strict confines as to where you’re sat. Let us drink and make merry!”

With everyone attesting to such a notion, the men rose from their places and made their way towards others. Small groups of conversations were started throughout the dining hall while some men slipped in and out of them, goblets in hand. Michael watched the scene for a moment, seeing the nobles carry themselves with such self-declared esteem while servants skirt around everyone to gather dishes and light candles.

“Come,” Luke said softly, pushing his knee against Michael’s to get his attention. “Let’s intermingle.”

“I’m not quite sure–” Michael started, only to be cut off by Luke taking his hand to pull him from the chair. Michael laughed and consented to Luke’s wishes, following him out from behind the table they were sat at and into the groups of men.

As Luke wove them between all of the people, towards some unknown destination, a few of the nobles offered their fleeting and hollow words of encouragement. Many wished Michael luck, saying they hoped he would succeed on his quest. Michael was flattered that they at least took time to speak such things. Others, though, merely scoffed at his passing then moved away from him.

Eventually, Luke and Michael were near the door leading to the rest of the castle, approaching where the knights were talking. Glyndwr saw them approaching first, interrupting any conversations held to pull Michael into a hug. Michael’s hand was torn from Luke’s as he accepted the embrace with a laugh.

“Michael!” Glyndwr exclaimed, accent thick from intoxication. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I have to be, don’t I?” Michael joked lightly, a smile on his face. He stepped back to open up the space between himself and Glyndwr. Luke, in turn, drifted forward slightly to stand next to Michael, their arms brushing each other’s lightly.

“We will save the kingdom together, right Ev?” Glyndwr asked, tugging Evart to his side. Evart begrudgingly accepted the gesture, an annoyed look on his face.

“Of course we will,” Evart replied with little conviction. “That is, only if you cease your drinking of wine.”

“Nay, I shall not,” Glyndwr exclaimed, rousing a cheer of agreement from the other men around them. “When the king offers first pressed wine, how can one cease drinking it?”

“Quite easily!” Evart said, pulling the goblet of wine from Glyndwr’s grasp. Glyndwr looked offended but didn’t try to take it back. “I can promise that he won’t be nearly as affected by drink come tomorrow morning.”

“I believe you,” Michael replied with a slight laugh, looking over to Luke who nodded with little emotion behind it. “Now the matter of concern is, are you both ready for tomorrow?”

“All except for such an early departure,” Evart replied, trying to contain Glyndwr’s drunkenness to a small area by holding his arms down slightly. Evart looked at Glyndwr’s attempts at wild gesticulations and sighed. “I swear he acts like a child at times. He’s an excellent archer, of course, assuming he hasn’t any alcohol in his body.”

“It appears we’ll be avoiding most settled places then, lest he be offered copious amounts of wine,” Michael teased, although Glyndwr appeared to not hear, already bored by their conversation and onto the next one.

“Precisely,” Evart agreed with a laugh. “But otherwise all will go well. Our discussion over various tactics to employ will help us greatly. There’s little to worry about, and Glyn and I will ensure your safety.”

“And I, yours,” Michael replied, nodding his head to punctuate his statement. “While I have great faith in your healing capabilities, I hope dearly that we won’t have to make use of them.”

“As do I,” Evart said with a soft smile, turning his head as a loud sound met his ears. It appeared that Glyndwr had knocked over a great amount of dishware in the middle of an animated conversation. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Michael waved him off with a small laugh, watching as Evart heaved a great sigh before trying to fix the mess Glyndwr had made. Looking over to Luke, Michael saw that he had his ebony ring pulled between his teeth as he stared off towards nothing. Michael leaned up against him slightly, pulling Luke’s attention back towards him. A small blush fell over Luke’s cheeks, his mouth opening to speak. Before he could say what was on his mind, Hester stepped to Michael’s right, unintentionally interrupting them.

“You boys look quite nice,” Hester commented, her amused smile indicating that she knew full well that she was simply complimenting her own work. She looked to Michael, hand coming out to lift his navy cloak away from his body to see the fit of his clothes.

“All thanks to you,” Michael replied once Hester had finished admiring her handiwork. Michael startled slightly at feeling Luke’s arm slip around his waist, but then leaned into the touch. Warmth spread throughout his chest.

“I hope they serve you well,” Hester said earnestly, her eyes darting around at all the men talking animatedly behind Michael and Luke. “I was passing through the hallway only to hear such a raucous coming from in here. I assume you’ll be leaving soon with such celebrations taking place, Michael?”

“Tomorrow,” Luke answered shortly, voice soft. He tightened his arm around Michael’s waist ever so slightly.

“I wish you the best of luck, although I’m certain you won’t need it,” Hester said, smiling softly at Michael though her gaze softened as it shifted to Luke. It seemed she was trying to convey a statement without ever speaking.

“That means a lot, Hester, thank you,” Michael replied, just before she turned back around towards the door. She smiled and bowed her head in response, before turning on her toe, leaving the room as quickly as she had entered, ending their short-lived conversation.

Luke pulled his arm away from Michael’s waist, stepping a short distance away, his expression inquiring after who Michael would like to talk to next. Michael laced his fingers with Luke, smiling slightly upon seeing Luke’s flushed cheeks and parted lips. He led them towards where Calum and Ashton were leaning up against the wall, having a hushed conversation. Once they saw Michael and Luke approach, they turned slightly to invite the two to talk with them.

Ashton was catching them up on the story he had been telling Calum about one of his misadventures sneaking through the castle as a child, informing Michael and Luke not to run through the halls barefooted over wet stone floors. While they were all occupied by Ashton’s anecdotes, Luke pulled his hand away from Michael’s, his slight glance implying that he meant no offense, before pulling his arms tightly over his stomach.

“But I’m sure you’re well versed in such matters though, Calum,” Ashton said, a smirk falling over his face as he looked over to Calum.

“Is he now?” Michael inquired, delighted to hear such light conversations, even if for a short while.

“I most certainly am not,” Calum responded, glaring at Ashton. He didn’t wish to have stories about his own humorous follies be told.

“You most certainly are!” Ashton responded with an enthusiasm in his voice. He looked back over to Michael, keen on telling the story despite Calum’s protests. “When Calum and I were on one of our many journeys to the kitchens, we were sliding through the hallways on our socks because it wouldn’t make for a true adventure without such. Upon rounding a corner, though, Calum’s feet slid out from underneath him and he nearly fell completely to the floor.”

“Nearly?” Michael wondered, amused laughter starting to rise from his chest. Calum’s cheeks began tinting a deep red.

“His feet continued to slip over the floor without him landing on it. It was quite the sight to see. Eventually he caught himself with his hands, his crepe not surviving the tumble.”

“That was the most tragic part of that whole event,” Calum exclaimed, hands thrown up in mild agitation. “Never mind me falling to the floor, but I didn’t even have the chance to eat my crepe!”

With Calum’s addition to the story, all of them began laughing, Calum even joining in even though the story was intended to lightly ridicule him. Michael was delighted at Ashton’s story, but his face fell slack upon realizing that Luke was no longer standing next to him. His laughter died before it had finished. Michael turned behind him and saw Luke slip out one of the doors the kitchen staff had entered through at the start of the feast.

“Now with that– Michael?” Calum asked, noticing that Michael had started to walk away. Michael would have answered as to where he was going, but with Luke’s saddened behavior persisting throughout the day leading up to him leaving, Michael didn’t want him to get far.

He stepped out of the door Luke had left from, not bothering to push it shut, barely catching Luke’s figure walk around a corner and into a different hallway. Michael rushed to catch up to him, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. When Michael finally reached Luke, he was met by a passageway that opened into a courtyard. Intricate designs were cut into the stone of the passage, letting in cool air. Luke was leaning on his elbows over the waist high railing.

Silently, Michael approached, Luke straightening his posture upon noticing Michael’s presence. Michael didn’t say anything to Luke, knowing that if he was truly this upset over something that he wouldn’t be keen on speaking until he was ready. He simply held his hand out to Luke, palm up, asking Luke to take it. Luke looked up to Michael, eyes filled with a sadness he couldn’t quite place, but laced his fingers with Michael’s anyway.

Michael led the way for once, moving out of the passageway they had been standing in and back towards Luke’s chambers. There was something peaceful about it all, the way that Michael’s hands warmed up Luke’s ever cold ones, the silence echoing through the corridors like it was the loudest sound. It gave a closeness to Luke that Michael hadn’t felt before.

Once they reached Luke’s chambers, Michael made quick work of removing the hauberk and plate armor he had worn to the feast. The sound of the rings shifting along the chainmail tunic interrupted the stillness of the air. After he carefully set his own attire on the dresser against the wall, Michael carefully helped Luke with the same, hands tentative until Luke nodded that it was okay.

With their armor off, easing the weight from their shoulders, Michael took Luke’s hand back in his own. Luke seemed surprised for a moment, but didn’t pull his hand away, following as Michael started towards the door. They passed through the hallways and outside the castle, walking across the soft grass of the fields.

The sky was tinting blue with nighttime settling, cloudless and bright from the moon and stars. Michael could just make out the pathway he was walking along, the castle outlined a deep black against the sky. It looked like navy linen had been spread above them, flecked with the whitest of paints.

A few moments later they reached the hidden garden Luke had taken Michael to all those days before. Michael saw Luke’s lips part in recognition once he realized where they were. Luke then walked forward, pulling Michael onto the narrow, cobble lined path with a slight eagerness that Michael was pleased to see.

They passed through the flowers and tipped their heads so they didn’t hit the low hanging branches of the trees. Luke walked past the stone bench they had sat on before, following as the path curved behind tall bushes and reached one of the castle’s walls. Up against the wall was a small wooden chest, tucked beneath flowers and covered in moss so that it was hardly seen. Luke let go of Michael’s hand for a moment to sift through the chest, pulling out a folded blanket a moment later. He spread it over the grass then sat down, indicating that Michael should do the same. Luke tucked himself against Michael, leaning up against his side before intertwining their fingers once more.

“I figured you needed to escape the rest of the world,” Michael whispered, voice breaking through the hushed air.

“Thank you,” Luke replied softly, settling up against Michael more comfortably. It seemed that Luke didn’t wish further discussion of the matter.

“Do you know what we should do?” Michael inquired, trying to draw Luke’s thoughts away from whatever was bothering him.

“Hm?” Luke hummed in response, turning to look at Michael. “What’s that?”

“Since you’re a bard,” Michael began, smiling when Luke let out a soft laugh. “You should tell a story to me, or sing a song for me. I’m not entirely particular as to what it should be about, so long as it’s not Ashton. He’s had plenty of poems penned for him; this one should be for me.”

“Alright,” Luke said with a smile, shifting slightly in preparation. “Once upon a time there was a boy whose hair matched the night sky, whose skin was made from stars, and whose heart was made of gold. He was so filled with beauty, and yet that was but one piece of him.

“He was a hero. Despite not seeing such qualities in himself, this boy was the greatest hero the kingdom would ever see. One day he found himself on the doorstep of the castle, offering to fight for the king because his love for his brother outshined anything else. His desperation to save the lives of innocent people warmed the king’s heart. The king was overwhelmed by such an offer, greatly admiring the young man who was so selfless.

“So the king gave the boy everything, not for payment or reward, but because he wanted to give the boy the life he deserved. If the king could give the boy the world, he would have. Instead the king settled for the moon and the stars, because the young man reminded him that there was still light in their world.

“But there came a time when the young man had to go away on his quest; he had to leave the king. The young man fought for the kingdom and won, returning home to the king victorious, though. He was given the triumph and glory he rightfully earned, and lived out the rest of his life happily, which was exactly what he deserved.”

“What came of the boy and the king?” Michael whispered softly, overwhelmed by the story Luke told.

“That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” Luke replied, his voice quieter than Michael’s. “Hopefully it results in the same happiness.”

“I think I might have wanted the song instead,” Michael muttered after a moment, not sure how to respond to all that Luke had said.

Luke laughed in response, leading Michael to believe that he wasn’t going to indulge in such a request. A few moments later, though, Luke began humming softly, the pitches slowly flowering into words as Luke sang a quiet ballad.

Luke sang of the moon, so desperately lost in the sky of stars, of the angels he so desperately sought out that distracted from the one who was with him. Michael found the lyrics to be saddening yet beautiful at the same time, embodying both love and resignation at having it not entirely within his grasp yet. Luke’s voice was soft and lovely, sounding so fragile and broken. His words eventually faded into the humming melodies of the night. It felt as though they were enveloped by a shroud of silence.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Luke asked softly, eyes downcast. “If you don’t wish to go, then this is your last true opportunity to say such a notion.”

“No. I’m not ready. I’m so incredibly terrified to leave, Luke, but I can’t just change my commitments now. All of the people in the kingdom below where we sit, they need someone to save them, and I don’t think there are many others willing to offer to do so. They’re counting on a hero, so that’s exactly what I’ll be for them. They need hope, and I desperately desire that I can provide it.” Michael sat quietly for a moment, listening to the sound of Luke’s breathing rise and fall evenly. “Why do you ask?”

Luke looked up to Michael, his expression pained as his eyes grew brimmed with tears. “Because I don’t want you to leave.”

Tears begin to slip down Michael’s face as well, watching as Luke started to pull his hand away from where theirs were intertwined, but Michael tightened his grasp. Luke looked up to Michael, face shining with a dampness, looking genuinely frightened. Everything seemed still and fragile, as though even breathing would cause everything to shatter. Michael brought his left hand to Luke’s cheek, leaning towards him slightly as Luke fell into his touch.

“May I?” Michael whispered, his voice as soft as the night.

His words barely escaped his chest before Luke pressed his lips against Michael’s, eyes fluttered closed. It was chaste and sweet, filled with the dampness of tears and anguish of love, the climax to punctuate the declaration of emotion that had finally been expressed. Michael pushed forward while Luke wrapped his arms around Michael to pull him closer. There was a desperation as they tried to convey every feeling they hadn’t the words to say.

Eventually they pulled away, cold air filling their burning lungs. Luke rested his head against Michael’s shoulder, expression nearing that of one who looked heartbroken. Michael entwined his fingers with Luke’s once more, pressing a gentle kiss to back of Luke’s hands. At the gesture, Luke looked up to Michael, a watery smile filling his face.

“Now I really don’t want you to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Luke sang to Michael is the same as the one used for the title, but [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ggRuZd9DGQ) is the link to it again if anyone wanted to listen to it.
> 
> I think this is the longest chapter yet! I've been waiting for this for ages! I figured being 45k in about time for them to kiss. Now for my notes, a [hauberk](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hauberk) is a chainmail tunic, and the coif is like a hood. A [krapfen](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berliner_\(doughnut\)) is a type of filled doughnut commonly eaten in Medieval times. The [lithomancy](http://www.occultopedia.com/l/lithomancy.htm) was created by combining two different pagan methods. In Medieval times there was a specific order they ate food in because they thought it resulted in better [digestion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medieval_cuisine#Dietetics). Lastly, [here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/141767357871/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) is the moodboard I made at 3am for this chapter.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos to let me know what you thought of it! I've been waiting for this chapter, so I want to see how you guys feel about it.
> 
> Since this marks the end of what's likely the first third of this story, and I have a very busy week/weekend coming up, feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com) if you'd like to talk about anything. Thanks, lovelies :)


	6. don't say goodbye tonight and leave forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _all the times that i keep holding onto_  
>  _even though you're gone_  
>  _and the nights that i keep holding back the tears_  
>  -[Beautiful Pain by Andy Black](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eI2LIwlvPbc)

There was a somberness suspended in the air when Michael woke, making it thick and choked – the kind of somberness that tugged lips downward into frowns and caused tears to fall with a sense of urgency, that dipped down onto shoulders, hunching them, and pulled eyebrows taught. Michael could feel it pressing down on him, testing to see how strong he was before he snapped. Michael could already feel the fractures running along his bones; it would only be a matter of time before he crumbled.

The pale light of the just peaking dawn washed all color from the room, seeping the liveliness of all the rich colors that normally filled every alcove. The deep browns and navy blues dimmed in the muted light, falling grey before Michael’s eyes. Everything looked as though it was withering away, fading into the monotony of nothingness. It only served to dampen the mood of the already grave scene.

Perhaps it was the quiet of the room, though, the silence screaming every word Michael wished he could but say, taunting his fears. The scene was dark and still, so uninterrupted by the world surrounding it that it would be too late before Michael would ever dare taint the calm of the morning. The inevitability of it all – the ending brought about by Michael desiring to maintain the silence of the room, the anticipation of an unfulfilled farewell – caused his heart to ache in a novel way.

But it was Luke that caused Michael’s heart to break.

His eyes faded to grey in the soft light, so filled with a sadness that threatened to spill over and drip down his cheeks. Michael feared that the stains of despondency would forever mar Luke’s skin should it not fade away from his soul. Luke looked so faded, as though the lightness he embodied was seeped from his being.

Perhaps Michael’s heart was breaking because he was witnessing Luke try desperately to not fall apart before his very eyes. Michael wished dearly that he could put Luke’s every piece back together; he loathed to see Luke’s shards scratch his fragile heart raw. Michael wished that every moment he held Luke would keep his pieces together for another day. Michael wished he never had to leave and cause Luke to shatter against the cold ground, and yet Luke was just waiting for the moment until he had to say goodbye.

Michael had woken in such a blissful ignorance, wrapped in warmth with Luke folded up in his arms. He listened to the softness of Luke’s breathing, the small puffs of warm air mixing into the morning’s chill, watching as Luke tucked his knees up closer to him and pressed back further against Michael’s warmth. The blankets rose and fell with the movement of Luke’s chest, soft and nuanced in the blur of dawn. Michael simply hugged Luke closer and pressed the cold tip of his nose into the crease of Luke’s neck.

But eventually the biting morning seeped under the blankets and pulled him from the contentedness of his dreams – from the comfort of lying with Luke – despite how much he wished it wouldn’t. Luke shivered beneath Michael’s arms, the jolting movements jarring him awake as well. A sigh sounded softly in the air before everything grew still once more.

Wordlessly, they slid from the blankets of the bed and onto the floor, their socks and thin sleep clothes doing little to keep their chills at bay. While spring grew closer, there was still a hard edge to each new dawn. Whether their shivers were from the brisk air of the early morning or the anticipation that struck at their hearts, Michael wouldn’t know.

Michael slipped out of the soft linen he had worn to bed and into the thick tunic and trousers Hester had sewn for him. The cool air graced his bare skin, little marks rising with the hair along his arms and legs. With rushed movements, Michael pulled on the clothes he would wear for many days to come, relishing in the slight warmth they brought.

The navy fabric looked colorless in the light filtering through the slats of the shutters. Michael felt that he almost faded into the dreariness of the morning once the tunic was set over his shoulders, his own colors bleeding into that of the walls seamlessly. Perhaps his colors were bleeding from him after all.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Michael tugged his leggings up to his shins, eyes vacant as he stared absentmindedly at the brick wall Luke’s dresser was set against. His gaze briefly shifted to where Luke was changing into his own outfit, but he quickly broke it away from Luke in favor of the pale stones. After Michael stood to step into his boots, he began to walk towards Luke.

As Michael padded closer to Luke, the heels of his boots creating an echo throughout the quiet room, his eyes danced over Luke’s face, growing sad upon seeing the tiredness yet softness to his features. Luke’s hair fell limply over his forehead and his eyes were heavily lidded from waking at such an hour, his nose tipping downward from sniffing occasionally. Michael wished dearly that it was from the chill rather than sadness. There was a dusting of freckles over Luke’s cheeks that gave him a youthful innocence, and Michael held great hope that it would touch Luke’s soul.

Upon reaching Luke, Michael brought his hands up to take the chainmail tunic Luke had picked up for him, carefully setting it over the bed; he wasn’t quite ready for the commitment and finality brought by pulling the tunic over his head.

Luke seemed slightly taken aback by Michael’s movements, confused as to what his intentions were. Rather than respond to Luke’s questioning looks, Michael simply stepped closer to Luke and smoothed his hands around the curves of Luke’s waist and to his back, pulling their chests flush in a hug.

Luke’s hands wrapped around Michael, holding him with a similar sense of urgency. All the uncertainty of what fate would bring to them next hung suspended in the air, just above them but not yet crashing down. Nothing mattered more than the warmth between them. The damp chill of the rest of the world couldn’t hurt them just yet.

Michael could feel Luke shaking slightly against him, his chest heaving with a sadness that could no longer be restrained. Luke tucked his head down into Michael’s neck while Michael slid his hands over Luke’s back to pull him into a tighter embrace. Whispered words lost themselves in the space between Luke and Michael, sounding like nothing but meaning everything, enveloping them with a thin veil of comfort to shield them just for a moment. Michael might not be able to keep Luke from shattering, but he could try to hold Luke’s pieces together until Luke was torn from his grasp.

He was almost glad that they reached such catharsis before they went to join the others. There was a privacy – an intimacy – that would have been infringed upon otherwise. Spoken and unspoken words passed between them, Michael holding Luke – holding him together – to tell him that he would always ensure that Luke was whole. Meanwhile, Luke tried conveying that he believed in Michael, that they would both be okay.

But the morning carried on around them, the sun’s beams reaching past the distant horizon, tinting the walls a pale yellow that hardly colored the room enough to seep away the sadness filling it. The light urged them to ease from their small space of comfort. With a softness to his movements, Michael slowly drifted from Luke’s arms and brought his hands to Luke’s cheeks, tipping his head up to press a kiss to Luke’s forehead. Luke bowed his head slightly, inviting the gesture. Once Michael pulled away, he didn’t fancy how the empty space between his arms returned upon dropping them to his sides; he didn’t fancy the way their veil of comfort was stretching thin.

The rest of the morning’s early hours were hurried through systematically, both working as though some external force was acting upon them. There was a numbness to their movements; they were merely pushing themselves through the heaviness of the air surrounding them.

Michael continued to put his armor on, adjusting the lay of the chainmail over his tunic before inquiring after Luke’s assistance for the plate armor. Luke helped to properly fasten the straps of the armor, Michael occasionally interrupting Luke’s fastidious work in favor of bringing a happiness to his face. He lightly pressed the pad of his finger against the small dimples in Luke’s cheek to elicit a smile before replacing it with a kiss, loathing every time he saw Luke’s eyebrows grow knit of their own accord.

After spending increasingly more time with him, Michael grew to learn that he would do most anything to keep a smile across Luke’s face. His concern towards Luke’s wellbeing only managed to grow over the days and weeks, and seeing Luke look so incredibly wounded only caused his heart to ache with a newfound pain. All of the emotions Michael felt towards Luke intensified without cease as time grew on.

The attempts at lightening the heavy mood with both ways, however. Michael offered Luke every piece of love and affection he could, and it appeared that Luke was doing the same. Every fleeting smile and glance of crinkled eyes warmed Michael’s heart. Whether it eased the strain of emotions on his fragile soul or merely served to deepen the wounds that would be created once they parted ways, Michael couldn’t tell. Nothing else mattered in the moment, though, except for each other.

It felt like they were tucked together, both body and spirit, nestled into each other’s warmth. There was an ease that came from fitting together and being filled with such great concern for one another. After putting so much thought into the matter, Michael finally ascertained that they were the moon and stars, placed in the sky to fill it with light – to keep one another company. Michael was glad that at least when Luke wasn’t by his side, he’d still be able to find him in the sky.

While Michael finished attending to his armor and weapons, he watched fondly as Luke flitted throughout the room, adding things to the top of the knapsack he had packed for Michael. Occasionally Luke would cease his bustling for a moment and try to coax Michael into eating even a meager breakfast, but Michael tried to refuse each time. He eventually obliged Luke, taking a piece of bread to sate Luke’s desperate requests, despite him not being quite sure eating was the best course of action. Fear left tremors coursing through his body, and he needn’t start his quest feeling more ill than he already did.

As Michael thread his sword through his belt, carefully angling it so its tip didn’t trail along the floor, he heard Luke fasten the buckles of the knapsack, which was stretched at the seams from all that Luke packed into it. Michael was sure there was a great assortment of clothing, dry food, and healing supplies tucked into every pocket available. Michael had faith that Luke left him more than well prepared.

Luke walked over and hesitantly offered the bag to Michael as though Michael taking hold of the strap and pulling it over his shoulder marked the last of many opportunities for deciding against embarking upon the quest – another chance at a changed mind passed.

The saddened look fell from Luke’s face, however, when Michael offered his hand to Luke. If they were both stepping off the edge and into the realm of uncertainty, Michael resolved that they should do so together. Luke laced his fingers with Michael’s their tips pressing cold circles to the back of Michael’s hand. After looking at one another for a brief moment, they both let out a shaky sigh and built up their resolve before stepping into the hallway, before stepping ever closer to where they would part ways.

There was almost a nostalgia in walking through the castle’s empty corridors, leaving along the same path that first led them together. A miniscule part of Michael looked at all he passed with a sense of longing, fearing that should he not commit such happiness to his memory, it might grow lost to his mind forevermore. There was a sense of worry that he mightn’t see the castle again, but Michael didn’t care to voice such concerns to Luke, so they walked quietly together, each other’s touch grounding their uncontrolled thoughts.

It was the small things – their wet footprints trailing through the castle after it rained, scuttling over the floors as Ashton practically pulled him away from the kitchens, getting lost in the hallway of paintings and tapestries – an infinite amount of small memories piling into Michael’s memory that caused pain to blossom in his heart, beautiful but excruciating. It created a safe haven in his mind should he never return.

They eventually passed from the dimly lit corridors of the castle and out onto the training fields where a small group of silhouetted figures and horses stood in the distance. A fog had settled over the field, tinting the grass so it blended in with the grey of the sky. As they grew closer, Michael saw Calum wrapped up in Ashton’s arms, nearly asleep. A soft murmur of conversation drifted towards Luke and Michael.

“Who fathomed being awake at such an hour was a good idea?” Calum inquired, his eyes closed and his voice thick with sleep. Ashton nudged his hip against Calum’s to get him to look up, only resulting in Calum pouting up at Ashton.

Michael and Luke glared at each other for a moment, silently conversing to ascertain who was to blame for such a decision, seen as both were vehemently opposed to it. Their accusing looks did little to answer the question.

“It appears it was merely decided and severely regretted,” Michael offered in response, his voice interrupted by the deepened pitch of just waking up. A small shrug seized his shoulders.

“Well, I’m quite regretting it myself,” Glyndwr mumbled, the hand passed over his face muffling his voice. His skin had a patchy pallor to it that made him look almost as ill as how Michael felt.

“Perhaps all that wine was ill-advised,” Evart grumbled, giving Glyndwr a sideways glance, although his dissatisfaction was feigned.

“I was rather content with my decisions last night,” Glyndwr countered defensively, looking pointedly at Evart. “This morning, not so much, but alas, the repercussion of happiness.”

“Repercussions of happiness,” Evart laughed softly, more to himself than anyone else.

“Excuse me, but–”

“Oh, hush your bickering,” Michael interjected with a laugh. “Luke’s wine was quite good, but moderation would have been greatly advised. Evart and I were hardly looking forward to start this quest with your incessant complaints.”

“Complaints? Not I,” Glyndwr exclaimed dramatically, bringing his hand to his chest with mock offence.

“So excellently proven by this conversation,” Evart replied sarcastically, resulting in Glyndwr swatting at Evart’s head.

“The true task is maintaining some semblance of sophisticated thought after spending great time with those two,” Ashton commented, watching as Glyndwr and Evart continued to speak over such trifles.

“Nay, I think they allow for thoughts to be less severe in nature,” Michael offered, amusement filling his face at the trivial manner of their reactions.

“I suppose they do keep the mood light,” Ashton agreed, nodding as though there was great thought put into such a decision. His head slowed as his gaze fell to where Michael and Luke’s hands were still entwined, offering them a questioning look. Michael merely pulled Luke further into his side before sending the same look back to Ashton about him and Calum.

“They’ll eventually tire themselves out and proceed through the quest calmly,” Luke suggested, a lilt to his voice implying that he hoped it would be the case. Luke let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

“Oh perhaps they’ll eventually be like me and simply be tired,” Calum muttered from his place at Ashton’s side. He looked like standing in the early morning chill was the last place he wanted to be. Michael was glad Calum was at least awake to see him away.

“We’ll soon be off, and then you can return to your bed,” Michael offered, raising his eyebrows at Calum as though it was an arduous task. He intended to imply a silver lining, but Michael feared his expression only turned more saddened.

“Oh, don’t speak such things, Mikey,” Calum sad a beat too quickly, his voice softer than it had been before. “Fate wouldn’t have me leave you on any account, and I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.”

“Yet you’re waiting to watch me leave you,” Michael sighed, hoping no one had heard what he said. Luke’s fingers curling tighter around his hand suggested otherwise, though. The cool touch of Luke’s hand left Michael feeling grounded; letting go would hurt Michael more than he’d care to admit.

“But I know you’re leaving only to return later, bringing a better world with you. There’s a difference between a goodbye and parting without a single word, and I believe this hardly constitutes as a final goodbye,” Calum whispered, his eyes fixed steadily on Michael’s, wide and filled with concern. “I can only imagine all that’s running through your mind about this quest, but I can’t fathom any circumstances in which you wouldn’t come back home, Michael.

“I know you’re frightened of the uncertainty hidden in the forest, of what lurks in the dark and hides behind trees, of the sky catching fire. I can’t very well lie and say that I’m not frightened as well because, Michael, deep in my heart I’m terrified my optimism is blinding me from the reality of it all. But the rest of me knows that you’ll succeed.

“You’ll be the hero you used to think you were. Michael, you’ve always been the hero that ousts the darkness from the world – you’ve always embodied light – and I know that you’ll come home and your light will wash away all the fear that has struck at the hearts of the kingdom. You’ll be the knight that rides back into the walls of the city, bringing a protection that so many haven’t had the taste of yet. Many men, women, and children alike will rejoice in the life you have genuinely offered them.

“You’ll be our hero, Michael,” Calum whispered, gesturing at himself, Ashton, and Luke. “Your accomplishments, your return, will fill our hearts with an endless love. We have faith in you. We know you’ll come back to us.

“I’m here, nearly asleep on my feet, waiting to watch you leave because I want to see the light in your soul – I want to help you see it too. I can’t remove the fear that clouds your vision, but I can always be by your side to provide reassurance and instill a confidence within you. We’re not leaving one another; our quests are merely taking us to places beyond an arm’s reach or a pace’s distance away. That doesn’t go to say we shan’t meet up again sometime soon.”

“I just wanted to save you,” Michael said in a broken whisper, leaning into Luke’s touch, seeking out the comfort it provided. He fought to restrain tears, but Calum’s eyes were glimmering similarly.

“You did,” Calum responded quickly, a smile breaking through the sadness staining his face.

“And now you’re saving me,” Michael said, his voice overlapping Calum’s. “Now you’re my hero.”

“But is that not what family is?” Calum asked rhetorically. “There’s no single hero, Mikey. For what else would family be so esteemed but the very importance we all hold in it? Family provides foundation that few others can give. Would there be a fairness in unreciprocated love? In unmatched assistance? We’re all heroes because our joint motivation is each other. There are no restraints in love, be that of family or otherwise. I shan’t waver from your side should you fall. I believe in you, Mikey, and I always will.”

“It’s amusing, is it not, that the kingdom, entire races of people, all saved because I sought to save you. This world is clearly in need of your presence, Cal. It might perish if you do.”

“Oh, hush your extravagances,” Calum admonished, but there was a lightness to his previously heavy voice, and a pinkness to his cheeks.

Michael felt his chest fill with an overwhelming love for Calum. He gently tightened his hand around Luke’s before letting it fall slack, Luke quickly realizing Michael’s intentions and relinquishing his grip. Michael stepped forward and pulled Calum into embrace, arms gripped tightly around Calum’s chest in fear that should he let go, Calum might dissipate into the air. Michael knew that it certainly wouldn’t be the last of their hugs, but his mind couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if it was.

It was like grasping blindly through smoke, his future. He was trying to maintain a hold on things he would never be able to grab, and was looking desperately for stability in a world of blurred grey. It was like things crept up on him, barely giving him enough time to catch himself after falling.

Michael was holding onto memories and feelings, such intangible novelties that filled him to the core with warmth and dread simultaneously. The feeling of Calum in his arms, the rush of air into his lungs running through the corridors with Ashton, Luke’s lips against his own, even such small things like the light filtering through the stained-glass windows or the scent of the flowers in his and Luke’s secret garden, all were nestled deep within is heart. Michael wished dearly that they wouldn’t fade away, seeping from him like blood, taking every essence of his life.

Calum’s head was tucked against Michael’s neck, his breath coming from his nose in warm bursts of air. Standing there taking in his brother’s warmth, Michael felt the world fade away, just for a moment, and all of the happiness he had buried in his chest filled him with life. He truly felt the unwavering foundation that Calum provided. Pulling back from the embrace, Michael moved his hands to Calum’s shoulders and looked him firmly in the eye.

“You are disallowed from doing anything reckless, save for your and Ashton’s adventures to the kitchen, until your health has returned in its entirety,” Michael said sternly, hoping Calum would oblige. He could see from Calum’s face that he would.

“And you are disallowed from thinking negatively of your prospects,” Calum responded, mirroring Michael’s tone. Michael merely rolled his eyes in response.

“And to think, I’m the elder of us.”

“Calum learns from the best, Mikey,” Ashton suggested, voice lilting up into a question. He stretched his arms wide and welcomed Calum back into them, wrapping them securely around Calum’s waist so he was tucked to Ashton’s chest.

“I’m clearly the best,” Michael muttered shamelessly, returning to Luke’s and fitting easily into his side, thus opening their conversation up once more to include Luke and Ashton. When no one spoke in response, Michael continued. “With no challenges to my statement, I assume my proposition to be proven true, then.”

“You’re the best,” Luke agreed softly, tipping his head to look sleepily up at Michael, a small smile taking over his lips. Michael laced his fingers though Luke’s once more and smiled at him in return, a thin layer of contentedness washing over him.

Michael liked how quiet the morning was, how the paleness of the approaching dawn and the tiredness of his mind blurred things together. Life seemed softer but more exposed. Dawn had a rawness to it, its newness leading into the uncertainty of the day.

But Michael preferred the night, how its close brought an ending Michael could anticipate. Night was filled with hidden secrets, stolen kisses, warm bodies mixed with cold hands, and soft breezes that surrounded him at put him at ease. There was a difference from the numbness of pale mornings and the richness of the night. Mornings left Michael filled with an emptiness, the night fading to day and tearing him from the security of night’s haven. Michael felt empty.

“Do you have all that you need for your departure?” Ashton inquired suddenly, his voice pulling Michael from the daze of the morning.

“Luke prepared a knapsack for me, and I have great faith he did so well, so it’s safe to say I have everything I could ever consider needed and then still more,” Michael answered, focusing his gaze on Ashton.

“I surmise you’re more than well prepared,” Ashton said with a small laugh, his eyes shifty quickly between Michael and Luke.

“Well, actually,” Luke began, turning his back to Calum and Ashton to speak to Michael. His gaze shifted to their feet. “See, I–”

Michael silently cut Luke off, asking him to postpone his statement for a moment, sensing his hesitancy to speak. “Cal, Luke and I are going to walk over the grounds for a bit – my legs feel stiffened by the morning chill, and this would be the most productive of actions to take. Would you inquire after Glyndwr and Evart to see if they will be ready to leave in a moment’s passing?”

Calum offered Michael a peculiar look, but wordlessly agreed to Michael’s request; he seemed to pick up on Michael’s motive and pulled Ashton along with him, the two sleepily shuffling over to where Glyndwr and Evart were still bickering and watching over the horses. Once Calum and Ashton were a safe distance away, Michael tightened his fingers around Luke’s and started leading them away from the others, their arms swinging between them softly.

“You needn’t have done that for me,” Luke started after a minute, his soft words meshing seamlessly with the morning’s hum.

“Perhaps, but I did so anyway because you didn’t seem to desire speaking with Calum and Ashton there to listen as well,” Michael replied, walking slightly to the right to brush his shoulder against Luke’s. A small smile fell over Luke’s lips at the gesture.

“That’s quite true, thank you, I’m just,” Luke trailed, his eyes falling to where the blades of grass passed beneath their feet. After a moment he looked up sheepishly to Michael, a pale blush over his cheeks.

“Wait,” Michael interrupted, pulling on Luke’s hand to quicken the pace of their walking.

Luke quickly surmised where Michael was leading him to and stepped with a greater conviction instead of blindly following Michael. They passed over the familiar cobbles of their hidden garden, the pale white flowers and grasses bending around their ankles. Once they reached the back where the castle wall was, Michael pulled the blankets from the mossy chest and spread them over the dewy ground. They sat facing each other, legs tucked beneath them and knees touching. Michael waited and played with Luke’s fingers until he pulled his hands away to draw something from the pocket of his trousers and finally speak.

“I wrote a letter for you,” Luke began softly, placing the parchment envelope between Michael’s palms before wrapping his own hands around Michael’s. “I started it when we spent those many hours in the library reading about the forest and its creatures, throwing scraps of parchment back and forth, tainting the library’s silence with our laughs. I started quite a while ago, but I didn’t finish writing it in full until quite recently.

“I suppose the original intention was to find a way to support you when you were off in distant lands. I know how straining being on a quest is when family isn’t there beside you. It’s difficult to carry on whilst feeling so isolated in such a vast world. I thought that offering any motivation when you reached the point where it felt that all of yours had seeped from your being would be as much as I could give you.”

“I’m truly flattered and astonished, Luke. Thank you,” Michael whispered, moving his hands with the intention of placing the letter into his knapsack. Luke held their hands firmly in place, though, not content with leaving their conversation there.

“But things changed, Mikey. Things changed as the day you were to leave approached. The letter seems hardly cohesive in its thoughts – as poorly worded as what I’m going to struggle through saying – but when I read through all that I had wrote, I couldn’t bear rewriting it. I didn’t wish to take back what I said.

“My broad, sweeping statements of encouragement shifted to a different focus, and you should know of such before you accept my letter without hesitation This letter perfectly mirrors my thoughts as they’ve changed through the past few weeks.” Luke brought his eyes up to Michael’s, brimmed and wide with fright. “As time progressed, my desperation for you to stay flourished, and I don’t wish to scare you away.”

“Luke, I–” Michael began, mouth slightly agape at all that Luke was admitting and planning to admit to. Michael wanted to know what Luke had to say, but the fear Luke had over speaking caused Michael great concern.

“Michael, I need to be honest, even though it frightens me to be, and if you say something now, I might not be able to say all that I wish to,” Luke interrupted, his voice desperate and raw. “It’s going to hurt to watch you leave, Mikey. It’s going to hurt really badly.

“Calum was well-spoken on the nature of farewells. The difference between a final goodbye and a simple farewell is vast, and I fear I mightn’t get the one I seek. You brought light into my life, Michael – you’re made of stars – and I don’t wish for the world to be plunged back into darkness. I– I care deeply for you, and losing you would leave the world painted black.

“I suppose what this comes back to is that this letter I wrote for you isn’t merely excess motivation for when yours is lacking – that’s not difficult to offer. It’s something into which my heart and soul were poured, hoping that I might be there for you when you most need. Michael, I need you; Calum and Ashton need you. I will never give up hope, and I can’t very well let you give up on yourself.

“I wrote down everything my heart feels – fleeting and persisting thoughts both. I’m frightened that you might run away from me should you get a taste of how greatly I think of you. But I’m more frightened that you mightn’t ever come back, and I don’t want to let these things to pass unspoken. I’d rather you be here but not with me than gone forever. I just hope that I can achieve such things through this letter.”

Luke’s voice had grown progressively quieter as he carried on, a shyness filling him as though admitting such things any louder would make them more real. His gaze tipped down to where their hands were still entwined between them. Michael carefully drew his from Luke’s, setting the letter in his lap before moving to place his hands under Luke’s jaw.

“Luke,” Michael whispered, his voice matching the volume Luke ended his brief declaration with. Luke slowly looked up, his eyes brimmed with worry. “It’s going to hurt to say goodbye.”

Without any hesitation, Michael pushed himself forward and pressed his lips against Luke’s, the hands beneath his jaw smoothing around his neck to pull him closer. Luke reacted with slight surprise before obliging to Michael’s desired closeness, all but falling into Michael’s lap for the sake of being closer together. They kissed with all the desperation and emotions they felt, pulling away once the world finally melted into a numbness around.

“Once I read your letter, should I ever need to, it will be placed in my heart forever. You needn’t fear, Luke, because I’m certain all that you wrote for me is already reciprocated in full.”

Relief visibly flooded Luke’s face, his cheeks tinting a light pink; Michael smiled fondly in response. All of the emotions that filled his body – all of the cares for Luke – were reciprocated, and it eased Michael’s weary soul. He felt the strain of leaving for the quest, but knowing Luke would be waiting until he returned home gave Michael the drive to come home quickly.

Standing up, Michael offered his hand to help Luke off the ground before he tucked the letter into the pocket of his trousers. He looked yearningly at the cast of their secret garden under the morning light, already longing for the day he could return, before stepping off its flower lined path and back onto the grounds of the castle.

Their walk was brief and filled with the contentment of quietness, a mutual feeling now passed between them, their own personal secret. They returned to see Calum, Ashton, Glyndwr, and Evart quietly engaged in conversation, Calum absentmindedly running his hand over Gerard’s neck. Evart was the first to notice their return, stopping in midsentence to acknowledge their arrival.

“Ready?” Evart asked in a calm voice, causing the rest of the conversation to fall silent. Michael was grateful for the peacefulness his voice had, as if its passivity spread ease to Michael as well.

“I suppose I must be,” Michael answered with a shaky sigh. “There’s no more delaying now.”

“You’ll do wonderfully,” Ashton said first, pulling Michael into a hug. “You just need to have as much faith in yourself as we all have in you.”

“I think you’ll do well enough for us all to be written into stories one day,” Glyndwr added, pulling an amusing face for Michael’s sake.

“Thank you, Ash,” Michael smiled, his statement extending to all that Ashton has done for him. He turned to look at Glyndwr over Ashton’s shoulder. “You as well, Glyn.”

Michael turned to Calum next, who immediately contorted his face into an expression more amusing than Glyndwr’s, relaxing it into a smile upon hearing Michael laugh. Michael rolled his eyes fondly before hugging his brother tightly.

“I have faith that Luke and Ashton will be there for you,” Michael whispered to Calum. “You’ll have so many adventures with Ashton that I’ll have returned before you’ve noticed I’ve left.”

“We’ll trade stories when our respective adventures are done, I’m sure,” Calum said, pulling back to look at Michael. He didn’t seem sad, per se, not really, which Michael was glad for. He seemed sad for how devastated Michael looked, but had a glimmer of hope in his eyes, as if he knew the ending before it came.

“I expect nothing less.”

Michael then turned to Luke, whose eyes were shiny with the threat of tears. Luke made no advances forward, as if doing so would certainly result in tears he was trying not to shed. Michael simply smiled sadly towards him, hoping to spare them both from the extent of pain leaving brought with it.

Turning around, Michael nodded towards Glyndwr and Evart who both mounted their horses not a moment later, Michael taking hold of Gerard’s reins. The leather felt cold and unfamiliar in his hand, so austere in comparison to the warmth he was used to. He heaved a great breath and built up his resolve before taking to the matter with a greater determination.

“Michael,” Luke said from behind him, his voice breaking halfway through the word. He started forward to grab Michael’s hand and prevent him from leaving just yet. “Mikey, wait.”

Michael carefully dropped the reins and turned around, his heart shattering upon seeing how broken Luke looked. Luke closed the distance between them, their faces mere inches apart, while Michael took Luke’s other hand.

“Please promise you’ll come back to me,” Luke whispered, any previous attempts at hiding his desperation and sadness abandoned. Tears made his eyes red and swollen, emphasizing the sadness exuding from him.

“Luke, I don’t want to make a promise I’m not sure I can keep,” Michael murmured in response, hot tears sliding down his face as well.

“I–” Luke started, a sob escaping from his chest. He quickly silenced the rest of his sentence, crumbling away before Michael’s eyes.

Luke’s shoulders shook visibly while tears left tracks of stains over his cheeks. Luke looked fixed to where he was standing as though all of his broken pieces were scattered about on the grass. Michael feared Luke might run away, falling under the weight of his world crashing down atop him.

He looked up to Michael, mouth open as though he was about to say something but never did. Rushing forward, Luke caught Michael in a tear filled kiss, one with a passion that caused all of their other kisses to pale in comparison. It said every word they were too heartbroken to say.

“But for you, I’d give you the moon and all the stars,” Michael whispered against Luke’s lips, his eyes shut and sealed with the dampness of tears.

Their lips were barely brushing, foreheads pressed together as they reveled in each other’s embrace for just a moment longer. Michael felt Luke’s chest heave with another restrained sob before he suddenly choked out a softly whispered, “I love you.”

 Michael pulled back, shocked as he looked at Luke with wide eyes. Luke looked equally surprised, face seized with a slight fright at what he had said. He didn’t retract his declaration, however, causing Michael’s face to soften.

“I love you, too,” Michael whispered, his hands gently tipping Luke’s head down so he could press a soft kiss to Luke’s forehead one last time.

And with that, Michael stepped away from Luke and mounted Gerard, reins held firmly in his hand as though any looser a grip would cause everything to slip from him. Michael guided Gerard to follow Glyndwr and Evart out from the castle’s grounds and down the cobbled streets to the lands beyond the kingdom.

Michael didn’t look back at Luke. As much as he wanted to, Michael didn’t dare glace back at Luke. Michael couldn’t see the tears slipping down his face; he didn’t want Luke to see the tears slipping down his own face. His heart already felt shattered in more ways than he ever thought possible, and he knew that if he saw how broken Luke looked, he wouldn’t have fared well.

Michael knew that if he turned around to glance at Luke, he never would have been able to leave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to post!! I'm currently in the middle of taking AP Exams, but once they're all finished, I'll hopefully be able to write more frequently than doing 4k of this chapter in a single night.
> 
> [Here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/144029053831/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) is the moodboard thingy I made for this chapter, if you want to see it.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos! Feedback means the world to me :)
> 
> If you want you can check out my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com)


	7. why is your head bent down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i've seen more villages burn than animals born_  
>  _i've seen more towers come down than children grow old_  
>  -[The Peaks by Lewis Watson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1LzKpFO52dI)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medb is pronounced as may-v

“Honestly, Ev, how could you ever fathom calling yourself a cook?” Glyndwr grumbled, picking up a leaf from the ground to throw it weakly at Evart, who merely glowered in response. The leaf fluttered weakly in the damp air before landing delicately at Evart’s feet. Glyndwr stared after its pitiful fall with disappointment and disapproval.

“You know full well I’m hardly a cook,” Evart replied, reaching over to pick up a twig from the ground and throw it at Glyndwr in response, smiling inwardly when it hit Glyndwr’s forehead and left a streak of dirt. “You hardly complain when I’m offering you food, though, so if you’re displeased now, there’s plenty for you to find in the forest. Perhaps you’re fancying leaves today?”

Michael snickered at their small exchange, bickering and all, contented with how his morning was started. Although there was rain pattering lightly on the tops of the trees, dripping down the leaves and onto his cloak, the cool air of the forest filled his lungs with a richness he ached for. The forest offered a newness that couldn’t be found anywhere else – Michael could feel the essence of life exuding from the trees and the creatures dwelling in the heart of the forest. After the days spent pushing their way through the tall grasses beyond the kingdom, Michael was glad to be in the expansiveness of the forest. He was glad for the distraction.

Leaving the reaches of Luke’s lands led them to the monotony of the grasslands, the pale color of sun bleached grasses seemingly extending without cease to the horizon. They had passed through towns and farms, people gathering to gawk at the three lone king’s men who rode far from their homes. Perhaps the sight of the royal colors having ventured so far from the castle aroused fear into the hearts of many. Michael knew that if their roles were reversed, he would be staring after them all the same, mind reeling with every possible answer for their journey.

But even the closely knit towns and farms grew sparse as the forest loomed ever closer, leaving the three alone in the stretch of pale greens and light yellows. The sea of grasses brushed against Michael’s legs, burs dotting his trousers day after day. It was lazing, watching animals trace spirals as they chased one another through the prairies and the clouds paint the sky white. The monotony of walking to catch the sun then spending the night curled in the grasses left Michael resenting the idleness. It was loneliness in a silent world.

It gave Michael time to dwell, though, the blurred haze allowing for him to slip quietly into his mind. His thoughts drifted ahead into the future, filled with concern and plans for whatever he was to experience in the forest. His heart always remained back with Luke, though, regardless of the hopelessness his romance held. Calum and Ashton always lingered just behind Luke, tucked into one another’s sides with contented smiles on their faces. Anticipated prospects were nestled with his sole motivation to return home safely, all tumbling about in his mind. The days of prairie travel gave Michael the needed time to quell the tumult within him.

After due time, the lightness of the grasses gave way to the richness of the forest, sparking a greater liveliness in Michael. The forest was so filled with all that the grasslands lacked – vibrancy, newness, blossoming life – save for sunlight, and Michael was ever grateful for its energy. He might have been seeped of his colors, but the forest was certainly doing its part in painting him with its own.

“If I were to be king, Ev, I would certainly place you as a cook in my kitchen,” Michael said, his soft voice intermingling itself into Glyndwr and Evart’s conversation. His memories of reaching the forest faded away as he drifted back into reality. “Your meals have yet to be lacking.”

“I’ll most assuredly hold you to that, but solely to spite Glyn,” Evart responded, smirking at Glyndwr before returning his gaze to Michael. He held his spoon hovering over a pan that was balanced haphazardly atop a damp cooking fire. The scent of vegetables mixed with the poor fowl Glyndwr had captured earlier rose into the smoky air. “Otherwise, I’d quite fancy remaining a knight.”

“I find flaws in such notions, Ev,” Michael said, hardly fathoming himself a knight should lineage not hinder the ideas in the first place. He paused, biting into an apple he had balancing on his leg, leaning back against the tree trunk that was behind him. The ground felt cold beneath his legs, both it and the bark transferring their dampness to his clothes. “Your motives as well.”

“I find that you could successfully advocate on my behalf,” Evart replied, looking up from the pan to raise his eyebrows at Michael, shrugging. “Consider it retirement into work that would be hardly as strenuous on my weary and aged bones. As for spiting Glyndwr, well, I’m sure you’ll fall to my side of that argument eventually.”

“Oh, you can hardly speak after age as such; you’re as young as the king,” Glyndwr laughed, shoving Evart’s shoulder lightly. Evart frowned, eyebrows tipping deeply towards his nose, and continued throwing sticks at Glyndwr, who tried in vain to block them.

“Nay, I disagree,” Evart exclaimed dramatically, sweeping his arms so greatly that he nearly dropped his spoon. Michael marveled at how outlandish his nature could become. “I’m as aged as a dragon. I can see Death walking towards me already, scythe in hand.”

“Michael and I will surely fend off death for you,” Glyndwr said, a touch too quickly for the lazy pace of their conversation, unnecessary determination filling his voice. Michael hoped he was as motivated for their imminent battle.

“Oh, of course!” Michael said, playing along with Glyndwr’s theatrics. “Although, I do believe Evart is more than well prepared to fend off Death with his spoon. It truly is a fearsome weapon.”

Michael flinched should any sticks be tossed his way for a change, but was relieved to find Glyndwr the victim of such assaults once more. Evart only ceased his petty amusements once greater amounts of steam rose from the pan in the fire and he had to return to stirring it. Glyndwr smiled victoriously while Evart glared at both him and Michael in turn.

“I retract my statement, Ev. You’re the most fearsome one here,” Michael teased, grinning proudly. Glyndwr tried to stealthily pat Michael’s shoulder, but failed spectacularly.

“It appears that you’re outnumbered in regards to this assertion,” Glyndwr informed with mock sympathy lacing his voice, shrugging indifferently at Evart. “Although Ev isn’t misplaced in his earlier statement, Mikey. If you thought he would be fit for a cook – which he most certainly wouldn’t be, mind you – King Luke would consider the notion.”

A light blushed warmed Michael’s cheeks that even the coolness of the air couldn’t dampen. “I’ll have the two of you inquire after such a position. That is, if Evart, the ever hearty knight, would dare give up such an esteemed title so prematurely.”

“Mikey,” Glyndwr cooed, shifting so he could throw his arm around Michael’s shoulder loosely. “You’re deflecting attention to Evart, how clever. I’ll have you know that it is hardly working the way you’d like it to.”

“Oh, go sit by Evart. I’m sure he’s much more desperate for your attention than I am,” Michael whined, trying in vain to push Glyndwr off of him. Glyndwr certainly had a height and strength advantage to Michael. He slumped back against the tree in defeat.

“Please, the only one who is desperate for attention is you for L–” Glyndwr’s whispered jeering at Michael was interrupted by Evart pushing him over to the ground, the sodden earth smearing across his arm, dulling the metal’s sheen. Once relieved from the burden that was Glyndwr, Michael laughed at the sight of him sprawled across the ground.

“I think it’s best advised that you not linger past preset lines and into dangerous territory,” Evart said, reprimanding how Glyndwr brought up Luke so unabashed and carelessly. He sent disapproving glances at Glyndwr before offering Michael his silent sympathy. Michael merely shrugged with indifference.

“He’s not entirely misplaced, I’m sure, although desperation makes it all sound rather dreadful indeed. What I’ve with Luke is hardly unrequited now, and I’d like to keep it away from such affiliations,” Michael tried to say, keeping his terms vague but still offering answers. He didn’t wish for his friends to fathom his thoughts towards Luke as careless and desperate.

“Happiness is more than superficial expressions and fleeting words, and I think it best that we not tease that of others,” Evart agreed, looking pointedly at Glyndwr, who shrunk sheepishly.

“I’ve no quibbles with Glyn. He was creating idle entertainment that needn’t be reprimanded so severely. Perhaps in the meanwhile we ought to assist Glyndwr with his own unrequited love and endeavors,” Michael said, openly teasing Glyndwr with a similar lightness. “Say, do you fancy a nymph, one with eyes like the rivers?”

Glyndwr blushed, eyes looking between Michael and Evart briefly before glaring slightly. “And if I do?”

“Then I think you ought to fall in love as well,” Michael said, voice soft like he was sharing a secret. Evart chuckled softly but didn’t offer his own sentiments. Meanwhile, Glyndwr looked at Michael as though he was seeking something, contented when he appeared to find Michael’s eyes free of judgement.

Their conversation fizzled out into the sounds of the rain, the disagreements offering a degree of understanding between them as they resolved. It was better to comprehend the importance the three felt of each other sooner rather than have priorities revealed during times of hostility. It felt cathartic to expel all of the tenseness that had been building up within them during the strain of their journey thus far. It hardly offered release when they had been stuck in their minds for days on end.

Michael leaned back against the tree, watching the small fire Evart was cooking over burn feebly. Its flames were nudging gently at the bottom of the pan, releasing smoke into a grey veil around them. Once he tore his eyes from the flames, Michael noticed that Glyndwr had taken to tracing swirling abstract patterns into the dirt with a fallen branch. Michael watched the mindlessness of Glyndwr’s movements for a moment, continuing to eat the apple that had been forgotten a moment before, but looked away once the swirls grew like encompassing flames.

He elected to listen to the forest instead and revel in his moment of peace. It sounded like the trees were breathing, swaying with each inhale and exhale, leaves fluttering to the ground as their trunks creaked. Twigs and branches broke under the strain of the birds and squirrels that held races up to their heights, whilst deer and other land dwelling creatures stamped imprints into the ground.

It was pleasant to hear for Michael. He had never set foot beyond the cobbled streets of the kingdom’s walls, let alone entered anything remotely similar to the forest. From afar it seemed so dark and looming, enveloping everything within its reaches to expel the light. When Michael stood on Luke’s balcony many a times and looked out to the lands stretched to the horizon, he was frightened of how he would dissolve into the deep greens the forest had. Actually taking in all that the forest had to offer, though, Michael wished he could piece up the best colors he saw and take them home to Luke.

Luke. Luke was what the forest couldn’t offer despite how much Michael needed him – missing Luke was the most difficult part of his quest. Dragons and fires and uncertainty all struck vehemently at his heart, but that paled in comparison to what missing Luke did to it. Michael longed for a way to ensure Luke was well. The days of nearly ceaseless walking through the grasses and into the forest, increasing the distance between them with every step, pained Michael all the more.

It seemed futile, his longing, but in foreign lands filled with dangers Michael could hardly begin to fathom, all that was needed to quell the tremors in his chest was Luke’s soft touch. Cold hands, soft smiles, and warm legs tangled with his own. The forest mightn’t be where Luke is, but it offered great respite where his memories blossomed. When Michael returned, should he ever, he would never leave Luke again.

After a moment, a small metal plate of vegetables and chicken was handed wordlessly to Michael, his thoughts of Luke dissipating like a mirage before him. The plate Evart handed him was laden with wonderfully smelling food, but upon trying it, it tasted better than anything Michael could have fathomed. With the lack of proper cooking ware, Michael was impressed with how well Evart made of their situation.

“I will most certainly request that Luke place you as a cook, Ev,” Michael said between eating smiling at Evart, who simply blushed at the compliment. “Once we return there will be no rejoicing, no embraces, no celebrations, nothing, until I announce to the kingdom, ‘Evart is the best cook the kingdom will ever see.’”

“I’m flattered, truly,” Evart said, mumbling voice interrupted by embarrassed laughter, his shyness returning as he bit into chicken to evade any further remarks about himself. Michael admired his modesty.

“And what am I to reap upon arrival?” Glyndwr asked with childlike excitement, amused greatly by the theatrics of their conversation as though he, too, sought inclusion. He sat up and hugged his arms around his knees, looking attentively at Michael. Glyndwr seemed equally childish and an old soul, both attributes filling his being fully.

“A court jester, perhaps?” Michael offered, making a ridiculous expression to retain the humor in their conversation. “You’re rather amusing, Glyn.”

“For you, Luke would,” Glyndwr grumbled, tipping his face down so his forehead rested atop his knees. He let out a soft whine as if he imagined the severity of being a jester.

“Nay, I think you do quite well as a knight – you’re a hero,” Michael replied earnestly, gaining back Glyndwr’s gaze. His face was still tipped towards his knees, but he looked at Michael attentively nevertheless. “Imagine all the stories to be told about you one day. Glyndwr, the knight with the luscious flowing hair riding far from his home to save the lives of the innocent. Only by his mighty bow was the dragon truly felled. Once he returned home, victorious, all rejoiced in his successes. You’ll be the hero of legends that children will beg their parents to hear once more.”

Glyndwr’s cheeks tinted pink, deepening in shade when he saw Evart’s soft look directed towards himself and Michael. “Luscious flowing hair seems to be a tad hyperbolized.”

“How could it ever? Behold those curls!” Michael exclaimed, gesturing towards Glyndwr’s head animatedly, pleased when Glyndwr laughed slightly.

“Alright,” Evart said with a similar laugh, standing up from the ground to pack his supplies into his knapsack. “I think we’ve sat far long enough. We ought to keep pushing towards the dragon’s lands.”

Michael groaned in protest, but pressed his palms to the damp earth anyway, preparing to rise to his feet, but he flinched when Evart tossed another apple in his direction. Barely catching it, Michael sighed a whispered slew of vulgar words before glaring at Evart, who merely laughed and pulled him from the ground. Michael rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue when Evart patted his shoulder.

Michael tucked the apple safely at the top of his bag before tightly buckling its straps and pulling it over his shoulders. He felt in the pocket of his trousers for where Luke’s letter lay softly crumpled, relieved to find it was still there. With all seemingly packed away and their fire burned away into ash, the three mounted their horses and silently continued through the forest.

Michael was flanked by Glyndwr and Evart, one hand loosely gripping the reins while the other rested lightly on his estoc, hoping he wouldn’t need to use it. He led the way, attempting to avoid the overgrown brush by following along the trails stamped into the dirt.

Michael liked the view of the forest from atop Gerard, how the ground blurred into browns and greens, while the trees loomed like a ceiling of leaves. Low hanging branches brushed against him, flicking the water droplets that settled on the leaves across his face. The sun filtered through the trees, inching past every leaf in search of the earth below.

There was a passivity in it, the ambiance, exuding great reassurance at the peace the forest held, even for a while; it let Michael know that there wouldn’t always be something to pierce through his veil of comfort. It was a place of trying, where every speck of life and light did its utmost to add to the wholeness of the forest. There were so many pieces that gave their all to contribute to the beautiful picture.

But the passivity didn’t always remain. The light was balanced out by a dark that crept into the veins of petals and reached out its tendrils to seep away at the forest’s life. The tumult of the branches breaking reaching his ears and the horses being seized with a great hesitancy about continuing told Michael that they wouldn’t be enveloped by the light for much longer.

He shifted his weight backwards and pulled on Gerard’s reins to bring him to a halt before dismounting quickly, estoc drawn with ease. Evart and Glyndwr dropped to the ground not a moment after Michael, their own weapons raised tentatively as the sounds of disturbed underbrush came closer. Michael pivoted on his heel, glancing about at the encircling trees, his free hand smoothed lightly over Gerard’s forehead to calm him. Glyndwr looked pointedly at Michael, inquiring after his knowledge of the commotion, but Michael had no responses to give.

After a moment of circling through the trees, Michael lowered his sword to the ground, weary and uncertain as to the cause of the horses’ fright. He twisted the tip in the dirt, creating an indentation as he waited a bit longer, vision blurring as he stared off past where Glyndwr and Evart were leaning against the trees. He turned to speak to the two, but not a moment later a young boy came crashing out of the underbrush.

His face paled to a deathly color when he saw Michael, tripping over plants and falling into the soft dirt. He twisted around, palms flat on the ground as he looked frightfully up at Michael. Whispers to the gods left his mouth.

He was young, brown hair matching the tint of freckles dotting his cheeks, still round faced and filled with innocence. What struck Michael, though, was the runes and patterns twisting up the boy’s arms and legs, dark tint seamlessly decorating his skin. The same runes spiraled up in a repeated pattern before disappearing beneath his clothes.

After a moment of trying to comprehend the matter, the boy started point back the way he had come from, shouting in foreign words. The syllables sounded like nothing Michael knew, getting lost in the air between them. His expressions and gesticulations conveyed his thoughts well enough – the boy was running from something they ought not venture towards.

When Michael tried to offer a response and the boy found himself just as unknowing of Michael’s language, he pointed rather violently back the way he came and shook his head. Michael nodded that he understood, and then the boy tore away from the small patch of ground he had fallen onto, disappearing back into the trees. The three just stared after where he had been a moment before.

“What ought we do?” Evart asked after a moment, the first to interrupt the silence.

“We ought not do anything,” Michael responded, slowly turning around to face Evart and Glyndwr both. “He’s merely a child, frightened by the forest. Let him run back to his family.”

“But what of the dangers he ran from?”

“Discover the source of his fright?” Michael offered, an uncertain shrug to his shoulders.

“Discover? We ought not seek it out!” Glyndwr exclaimed, looking at Michael as though he was ridiculous. Glyndwr’s arms were moving wildly about his body, mouth agape as he tried in vain to convey his thoughts. He was vastly opposed to such a notion, as Michael gathered, but there was little else to do.

“Then what do you suggest we do instead, Glyn, amble blindly with no knowledge of what caused that poor boy to tear through the trees? I don’t wish to walk in the direction the boy quite blatantly indicated we should not venture to, but we don’t speak the language of those who dwell in the forest. We’ve no idea what caused his fright. Why venture ignorantly with the assumption that surely it can’t find us?”

Michael sighed, closing his eyes and bringing his had up to rest his forehead against it. He was frightened to the core of the dangers in the forest that scared the young boy so terribly, but he didn’t wish for knowing so little to loom over him. Any greater knowledge about it would quell the fear rising up in his chest. At least, Michael hoped it would.

“Michael’s thoughts hold merit, Glyn,” Evart said after a moment, face soft as he looked up to Glyndwr. “I know that seeking out such frights is hardly ideal, but I would rather know what evil lingers near us than let it train behind us whilst we remain unawares to their dangers.”

“Ev,” Glyndwr began, voice nearing a whine. His eyes flickered between Evart’s, trying to convey something that Michael couldn’t begin to read.

That was something Michael admired about the two, their wordless communication. They were so keenly aware of each other that there was no need for sweeping or wordy explanations as to what they were thinking. It was endearing to see how close they were. Evart caught onto what Glyndwr wanted to say after a brief moment, his face slipping into a sympathetic expression.

“Glyn, you’re the knight who’s soon to best a dragon. Luscious flowing curls, remember? I’m certain you can meander through a forest,” Evart said, appearing to be successful at helping calm Glyndwr’s nerves.

“Remind me why I decided to become a knight? Perhaps I ought to be the cook,” Glyndwr said with a slight self-deprecating laugh, but he smiled nevertheless.

“You’re a knight because you’re brave, and I’m the cook because I can actually prepare a decent meal,” Evart teased, pushing Glyndwr slightly towards his horse. “Now, let us go determine the danger in our proximity, so we can return to the primary focus of our quest.”

“Oh, very well,” Glyndwr said, laughing as he shook his head at Evart.

Michael led them, knowing Glyndwr would prefer to continue placed between himself and Evart. He walked through the brush, kicking dry plants out of the way and carefully avoiding new life reaching up towards the tall trees. Gerard trailed at his side, passively following the direction of the reins; Michael figured it would be better should he remain of foot than need to dismount on a whim.

After a ways of stumbling and tripping over plants, Michael found himself on a well-beaten path, all plants trampled away leaving nothing but bare earth beneath his feet. The path extended to his left, presumably back in the direction they had come from, so Michael pivoted and followed it right, hoping it wouldn’t be much longer before they discovered what exactly they should avoid.

Only a few moments later, Michael stopped walking entirely, holding his arm out to keep Glyndwr from stepping any further past him. The trodden path led them to a hut of haphazardly joined pieces of wood, overgrown all around it with moss creeping up the boards. Branches were twisted into a shaky fence that surrounded the house, and the windows had angled slats of wood that barred the light from getting in.

The house alone wouldn’t have aroused much fear, but animal bones lay sun bleached outside the door, and sigils were carved onto the walls. It was as though the forest’s darkness was concentrated and trapped within the confines of the fence surrounding the house. Michael squinted, leaning forward slightly to better see the sigils etched into the walls.

“What is it?” Glyndwr whispered to Michael, soft voice laden with moderate fear.

“A sorcerer or witch, perhaps?” Michael said, still unsure about the nature of the markings that lined the walls.

Evart stepped up between them and glanced at the house as well, eyes squinting to make it out more clearly. “Those sigils are filled with magic.”

“I assume this is what the boy ran from,” Michael said, eyes not yet torn from the house. Michael stared through the boarded windows, not quite understanding how no light seemed to filter inside. After a great paused, he turned to face Evart and Glyndwr. “I would as well.”

“I suppose that since we know this is here, we also know now to avoid this section of the forest. Perhaps we ought to turn back and skirt–” Glyndwr trailed off as his face grew pale.

Michael followed his gaze to see a woman stepping lightly from the house, bare feet slipping out from under the dark fabric of her dress and landing toe first on the dirt. She was very fair and frail, her black dress hanging loosely over her frame. Bright red hair cascade in curls down past her shoulders, and she wore a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes.

“We need to leave this instance,” Evart whispered, but any further statements were interrupted by the woman slowly approaching them.

“Boys,” the woman said, voice light but bordering shrill, distracting from the lack of inflection in it. Her accent was thick, but not impossible to understand. “Did you come to visit me?”

“Glyndwr,” Evart said, voice pleading. Glyndwr stayed rooted firmly to where he stood, despite Evart tugging desperately on his arm. “Michael, we have to go.”

“Are you trying to run away? So soon?” the woman called, a pout forming over her face. She stepped over the low fence and continued to walk towards them. “If you’re running from my sigils, I’ll have you know there merely for protection, nothing bad. There’s been a dragon igniting the forest, and I don’t fancy being a victim just yet. Are you wearing the royal colors? What are three knights doing so far from– oh, you’re here for the dragon.”

Her face fell into a smirk, lips tugged up into an uneven smile at the notion of having figured out their cause so quickly. Her expression bordered feral, causing Glyndwr and Evart to search blindly for one another’s hands as though holding on would provide some degree of safety. Meanwhile, Michael felt surprisingly calm. He knew danger was approaching him – the young forest boy’s fright was not misplaced – but he found himself intrigued more than any other emotion he anticipated feeling.

“And if we are?” Michael called back, voice carefully smoothed to prevent the witch from reading into more than he wanted her to. Michael stepped slowly to his left, positioning himself so Glyndwr and Evart were both more shielded by his body; Michael didn’t wish for Glyndwr to suffer any greater fright than he already did.

“Then I’ll pray to every god of every religion that you’ll let me come with you,” the woman said, an insensitive posture seizing her shoulders. She exuded an air of apathy as though she knew exactly how brash her comments sounded to passersby, yet had little care as to how she affected people. There was no remorse behind any of her statements.

Michael frowned at her request, but he still considered the notion of having magic on his side of the battle. Sorcery would surely weaken such a fearsome creature as the great dragon, but the cost of exploiting it wouldn’t necessarily be as beneficial as Michael would have liked; he was uncertain as to the repercussions accepting her offer would bring along. He scowled at the witch, still wondering about her motives.

“Ah, but of course, how could one trust the likes of a witch, yes?” the woman asked, stopped a decent distance away from them. Her dress was swept behind her, its bottom hem caked with mud, while the front danced a bit above where her bare feet were tipped in towards each other. She placed her hands tightly at her waist, stance almost inviting them to challenge her.

“What is your name?” Michael said, deflecting her inquiries with his own.

“Medb, but I can’t see how that’s important when you’re just waiting for your chance to run away.” Medb scoffed lightly, face turned away with mock hurt. Her mannerisms all had a degree of theatricality to them that both amused and concerned Michael; she seemed to be enjoying the effect her show had on its intended audience. “Unless you’re actually considering my assistance.”

“I’m considering your motives,” Michael said, quick to disagree with her. “I can’t see why a witch would be lingering beyond the confines of her house for the sake of asking after king’s men.”

“Because I’d much rather brood in there whilst waiting for the fires to turn me to dust?” Medb said, angrily gesturing with her thumb back towards her house. Her voice grew shrill once more, filled with her agitation at the circumstances. “We witches always fancy being burnt at the stake, yes? Pardon, I’ll just go back inside and watch through the window as the trees crumble under the dragon’s fires.

“I am more than well aware that I’m not pure of heart like you lot – I’ve bones outside my door and sigils on my walls, for Cernunnos’ sake; I’m clearly off-putting on a good day. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. This forest is filled with life, with magic, and I’m not going to sit idly by like the majority of those living here and wait for some sorry man like yourself to fix a problem that very much affects me as well. But I’m just an untrustworthy witch, so clearly there’s little hope for us all.

“Rain down your fires, O great dragon! Damn us all to hell!” Medb screeched, head thrown back as her arms extended towards the sky. After a moment, her body fell slack and she turned back towards Michael, eyes filled with her own kind of sadness. “I’m obviously not worth anyone’s time.”

“Perceptions are skewed; reliability has worn thin,” Michael said, voice shaky as he tried to justify the lack of trust on both their parts. “What can magic offer?”

“Oh, so you have been considering,” Medb said, lips tipping up into a smirk once more, the expression resting easily on her face. “Magic can offer lots.”

“As helpful as your description was, could you elaborate?”

“There are runes and sigils, as you’ve seen, which channel magic into what they’re inscribed upon. My house holds protections from evils – I suppose that says a great deal of you already. There are incantations that can be recited, especially alongside rituals with candles and herbs. Sometimes I can use poppets and employ specula, although the former is hardly of the passive nature. All of which is used for the sake of concentrating magic for a specific purpose. That doesn’t necessarily mean I exploit the forest’s magic to watch people suffer.”

“I never suggested you did,” Michael said defensively, the arm that was free of the estoc raising with slight surrender. “I’m merely trying to understand.”

“But you can’t understand, can you?” Medb asked, lilting up into a detached and singsong sounding rhetorical question, voice saturated with bitter emotion. “You’re all just knights; you know nothing of these sufferings, of having no power other than to sit and watch life fade away. What have you experienced of watching fires lap at innocence and life until there’s nothing but screams fading away in the air? Do you not just sit and watch those below you suffer, holding onto your claim of heroism with guilty hands?

“Although, I suppose that’s exactly what I wish to do, to just sit and watch. Imagine laying back, watching the trees burn into the sky, stealing the light from every star until they all come crashing down. The darkness would smother us all, crushing us to dust. There’s such simplicity to that, such peace. My blood-stained hands, guilty from inactivity, clasped together as everything just fades. Sometimes I wish I could fade away.

“And yet I’m still here fighting for something, begging to fight the great dragon, because there are others who have light too bright to be smothered by darkness. The forest – its trees, its creatures – needs to hold onto its light. This is more than simply slaying a dragon, you petty, foolish knights. The world is fading to grey and I can’t paint life into the forest on my own.

“I know you see hedonism and evil in my ways, but do you see yourselves as any better? Am I really the selfish one? What good comes from your fires, brashness, and the harsh sounds of metal? Where is the delicacy of your ways? Is my cause any more unjust than yours? My motives are based on a dedication to the life of the forest, and yours to, say, some king? The gods only know how dearly I wish for the sky to fall so my inactivity no longer results in waste, but maybe if I help keep it up, others won’t fall victim to the suffering. I beg of you, please employ humility or sympathy.”

Medb fell slack after her speech, chest arching as she filled it with air. There was a weariness yet determination to her, her own fires burning within. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed, tipped unevenly as though she was biting her cheek to keep from speaking any further. Michael feared that anger burned within Medb, but he saw that she was sensible enough to restrain her inner tumult; his respect for her grew, yet he wasn’t going to let her ignorance sway her opinion.

“He’s not ‘some king,’ and I am far from a knight,” Michael said after a moment, his own bitterness seeping into his tone.

“I’m only a peasant.”

“A peasant in royal colors,” Medb said, mocking and amused. Michael was hardly in a mood to let her interruption dissuade further discussion, continuing to speak as if she never had.

“And you’re hardly justified to claim I know nothing of your sufferings. I know plenty of seeing life burn away into echoing screams, of seeing colors fade from people, of watching the streets being painted red from the loss of lives. I’m not here for the superficial enjoyments of man, for the trifling endeavor many regard this as. I made a promise, to myself, to my family, to those I love. If I could be back home, I would never have left their arms.

“I don’t seek glory – I’m just as inclined to burn away with the world because my desire for blissful ignorance will surely be my downfall – I seek respite for all those who have suffered far longer than they ever should have to. There is so much life here, beautiful life, and it shouldn’t be tainted by smoke and the ruination brought along by any evil.

“Hands are guilty, souls are hardly clean, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have our own small claim on goodness in the world. You think we are the mere dirt you walk upon, staining your every step, but we fight for the same light as you. You want us to bring you with us on our quest to spare the light, but you fear we won’t because selfishness fills our hearts. I assure you, your judgement, though well thought, is vastly misplaced.

“How are we to fight on the same side, stepping hand in hand in battle, if we are too blinded by our prejudices? We must accept each other – understand each other – and that’s a feat to be undertaken on both our parts.”

Once he finished speaking, Michael felt Glyndwr tugging lightly at his cape whilst whispering his name, clearly opposed to the decisions of peace seeking over closemindedness. Michael resolved to ignore the interruptions, even if briefly, curtesy winning over his friends’ worries. Medb noticed Glyndwr’s restlessness and swept her arms grandly, offering Michael leave from their conversation.

Her face retained its hidden layer of slyness, the careful and calculated motives that were almost perfectly masked under expressions of knowing and superiority, but they gave way ever so slightly to a softness. Michael could see how Medb’s smiles reached closer to her eyes and caused the edges of her façade to crumble away slowly. There was a complexity within her, and while she wasn’t keen on sharing its entirety, she had since progressed from their first introduction. Medb was offering Michael insight into the fragility of her broken soul, so stitched together with bitterness at the world.

Having secured Medb’s approval of closing their conversation, Michael turned to see Evart and primarily Glyndwr staring at him with bafflement. Glyndwr opened his mouth many times in an attempt to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

“Honestly, Mikey?” Glyndwr said, choked words only managing to startle the three of them. “You’re trusting a witch?”

“I’ve not yet trusted her, Glyn.”

“You’ve certainly come close to trusting her! Mikey, good won’t come of this.”

“Glyn, when you look at her, you’re not looking past your preconceived thoughts as to how witches are supposed to be. She’s no more than her name and label if you don’t see her as herself, but there’s more to her than just that, I’m sure. She’s a witch and practices magic with powers we can hardly imagine – we ought not throw caution to the wind – but there’s little dissuading us from at least talking with her.

“Yes, she has powers over us that we can only fathom to wield, but do we not have strength over her as well? Magic serves her well, but she is frail; her strength comes from words, but ours comes from our arms – we can more easily access ours. We shan’t be reckoned with either.

“There is more than our pettiness, our innate hatred derived simply from the knowledge that we are unalike. We can’t busy ourselves with these trifles and civil wars. The entire forest is united against the darkness and the wrath of the great dragon, and we shan’t be carried down by these trivialities. Vast as our differences may be, we must set them aside under our common goal.

“I know you don’t trust her, I do, but her power can offer strength to our side of this war. She’s given us nothing to dissuade us yet. We still stand here, untouched, neither words nor weapons sent our way. All she’s done is tell us facts about ourselves. And she remains as well, our blades not yet seeking her skin. We need not dissolve ourselves to violence – we need only to try.”

“Alright,” Evart assented, listening keenly to all that Michael had to say.

“Really?”

“I don’t like it, but I trust you. I trust your judgement, and if you think she could help us, then we ought to at least see what she could offer. Perhaps good can come of it yet.”

“If it doesn’t work, you’re fully entitled to parading around and declaring just how wrong I am, but in the meanwhile we ought to just wait and see what happens.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll trust her,” Glyndwr said, still decently perturbed by the notion. “Not yet.”

“Nor I, but I shan’t distrust her either.” Michael thought a moment, trying to find ways that could assuage his friends’ hesitancy at the notion further. “We ought to split and take a watch when we’re around her.”

“That I can agree to,” Glyndwr said, nodding his head after thinking on the notion. “I would find your watch safer than many other ideas you could conceive.”

“Very well then,” Michael replied, pleased that Evart and Glyndwr understood his reasoning and were open enough to seeking the best of their situation. He turned around to face the witch, who had pivoted and tipped her face away politely, but was still watching from her peripherals.

“Well?” Medb asked, voice hopeful but already assuming.

“We’re going to try,” Evart supplied, clearly not keen on fully revealing what that entailed. His decision to speak for once, though, showed how greatly Michael was supported.

“Excellent,” Medb cheered, voice artificially light. Michael wondered what her true nature was; she was simultaneously desolately dark and superficial, empty yet filled with her own fabricated life. Michael wondered what hollowed her ought so thoroughly. “You ought to come inside. The forest grows harsh as the darkness creeps in.”

Michael glanced up at the sky and saw that its slate blue color from before faded into a deep grey, the sun sleeping away behind its cover of clouds, staining the forest with darkness. He turned around to see what Evart and Glyndwr thought of the notion, both nodding slightly in agreement. Their worried faces smoothed when he mouthed that he would take first watch for the night.

Michael led the way, stepping over the fence first. He was unsure as to why there was no gate, but was unquestioning nevertheless, lingering slightly as Glyndwr finished tying the horses reins to a tree. Crossing over into the witch’s yard caused a wave of darkness to wash over Michael, the coolness of cruelty hitting his skin. Perhaps it was Medb, or merely the magic she channeled, but it was an unsettling feeling.

The interior of her house was no less discomforting, light from flickering candles barely reaching the walls. Furniture was sparse, ominously illuminated and silhouetted, and every surface was coated in dust. While it seemed well lived in, Medb’s house hardly seemed well kept. Glyndwr carefully shut the door behind him, shadowed face sending Michael a worried look. Michael slid his hand to his estoc, nodding to assure Glyndwr and Evart both that he was well prepared for any future dangers should they ever arise.

“You boys ought to sleep,” Medb muttered, accent thick and voice more ethereal than it had been. She turned around, eyes the brightest thing the dark room had to offer. “It’s late and besting a dragon is no task for the weary spirit. I’ll fetch cushions.”

“I’m going to stay up a bit,” Michael said, offering no more on the subject.

“Men, ever extraneously loyal,” Medb said, voice muffled by the cushions piled up in her arms. She walked back to where the three were standing and dropped the cushions to the floor, straightening them with her feet. She disappeared into the dark before returning with a few blankets. “That should do well, yes?”

“Better than the damp earth we would have been sleeping on,” Evart said, laughing slightly, although his nerves were hardly masked. Nevertheless, he and Glyndwr still thanked Medb, cautiously dropping their bags to the floor before resting on the cushions spread about.

While Glyndwr and Evart settled for the night, Michael walked to the window, peering out from the boards to see the sky, clouds barring all but a halo of the moon’s light. A breeze rustled the silhouetted leaves, giving Michael hope that the clouds would give way and clear the sky. Michael wanted the moon’s light in all of its beauty he didn’t want it to be tainted by veils and darkness.

He stood at the window for a great time, fingers tapping absently at the windowsill, eyes all the while set firmly on the clearing sky. His bones felt weary, dampened by the forest’s weather, and his muscles ached with lack of rest. Despite the life the clear air had given his chest, Michael still felt the hollowness in his heart.

“If you keep looking at the moon like that, I’ll think you’re in love,” Medb said, having appeared silently at Michael’s side.

“See, but I am in love, and the moon only deserves looks of the most adoration,” Michael whispered, eyes not once torn from the sky. The clouds were beginning to thin.

“Do you ever miss the moon?” Medb asked, voice as soft as Michael’s. The hesitancy in her inflection led Michael to wonder if there was vulnerability lying beneath her statement.

“Always.”

Medb paused, mouth agape as she stared in wonder at the sky. After a moment her face fell relaxed and she looked back to Michael. “Were you aware that there’s magic in everything?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Michael said, finally turning around to face Medb.

“Life is so filled with magic, and life flows through so much. The veins of leaves, the hearts of birds, the light of the moon, even you – all so life filled, so full of magic.”

“What am I to do with it?”

“Come,” Medb said, stepping away from Michael and circling to a table in front of the other window. Michael obliged, sitting down across from Medb, a pitched and a shallow silver bowl filling the space of the tabletop between them. She poured the water into the bowl, waiting for its surface to smooth before continuing. “There’s so much life, so much magic, and you can reach out to it – you can feel life, near you, far from you, and you can flood your being with it. Use the water to help you see more clearly, and the moon’s light to guide your thoughts.”

Michael filled his lungs with air, so uncertain as to the reliability of Medb’s beliefs, but her rested his hands across the table similarly to how hers were and let his eyes fall shut nevertheless. Calming his mind, Michael tried his best to reach out for the life, that which danced in the forest, between trees, as creatures and spirits rustled the leaves. He knew it was there – he had felt the beauty in the life of the forest since setting foot in it – but somehow employing Medb’s advice made it all the more strong.

After a moment, Michael reopened his eyes to see the moon filling the surface of the water, clouds disrupting its light. The moon twisted into shapes and swirls of darkness like shadowed bodies were dancing across the surface. Vision or not, the sight was beautiful – the silhouettes and figures were mesmerizing. There was grace and smoothness to their movements, and their shadowed faces conveyed the emotions their dances showed. Two figures grazed the waters surface with quickness and ease, while one was filled with light but danced with a great sadness. Michael was witnessing such melancholic beauty.

“What do you see?” Medb’s soft voice asked after a moment of Michael just staring at the water.

“I see dancing shadows.”

“When you first scry, what you might see could be clouded, almost as though you’re looking too intently that you can’t focus on a single thing. You’ve yet to learn to step back and watch from afar. It’s easier to focus on whom or what you love.”

Michael nodded in response, eyes still watching the shadows. Briefly, the moon twisted into a lean face filled with bright eyes and thin lips interrupted by the darkness of ebony, showing Luke, porcelain and statuesque in the moonlight. Ripples across the water’s surface tipped Luke’s face into downturned eyes and pouted lips, streaking his face with tears, before dripping away into faded waltzes once more. Michael stared after the saddened lightness Luke had brought to the water’s surface, but it didn’t return.

“Now what do you see?”

“I see the moon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't wander into unknown witches' houses, regardless of how friendly they might be :)
> 
> [Here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witchcraft#Spell_casting) is where I got my information of witchcraft, ever the reliable sources, as well as the scrying from [here](http://paganwiccan.about.com/od/divination/a/Moon_Scrying.htm). A poppet is like a voodoo doll. I got the name [Medb](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medb) from a queen in Irish mythology, and [Cernunnos](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cernunnos#Neopaganism) is a Celtic god I used for the sake of an exclamation.
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! Thanks, lovelies!
> 
> Come check out my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com) for incessant posts while I'm writing.


	8. we should all burn together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and if the night is burning_  
>  _i will cover my eyes_  
>  _for if the dark returns then_  
>  _my brothers will die_  
>  -[I See Fire by Ed Sheeran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fngvQS_PmQ)

Michael woke up shrouded by darkness, only a small sliver of light filtering through to pass across his closed eyes. Opening them, eyelashes brushing against his forearms, Michael saw that faint sunlight was seeping through the gaps from where his arms were crossed underneath his head to create a makeshift pillow against the wood of the table. His back and neck felt stiff, stretched and unmoving from falling asleep on the tabletop, and his head ached horribly.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, only of watching waltzing shadows and sad eyes. When he did fall asleep, though, Michael dreamt of Luke, so broken and weary, and of finally being able to hold him together. His mind blurred together memories and wishes of soft embraces, small smiles, and chaste kisses, all enveloped in a quiet happiness that filled his mind. All faded once he woke.

Michael’s heart ached at the sight he saw distorting the moon. He didn’t wish for Luke to be unhappy in the slightest. Part of his mind entertained the notion that perhaps it wasn’t real – perhaps Luke was happily spending his days with Calum and Ashton – but even entertaining the thought of such hurt Michael in a novel way. It was hard to fall in love with someone so seemingly fragile just before being whisked away to where they couldn’t be together. It pained him in more ways than he cared to admit. Michael hoped Luke didn’t shatter when he couldn’t be there to catch him mid fall.

But Michael feared that perhaps he was too invested, that his heart was already too far gone. He spent such great times worrying about Luke, yet at times he thought himself so foolish. Michael cared for Luke as much as his heart could possibly allow, but his love was the thing of stories. His feared that his emotions were overbearing upon him, so simply placed yet running so deeply within him. Michael fathomed Luke’s sadness as being mirrored to all that he saw across the surface of the water – he feared it was so beautifully obscured.

Michael was in love, but his heart told him Luke was too. He knew that however worried he was about Luke, however worried they were about him, that their emotions would right themselves one day. Being apart from his family, being away in lands so filled with danger, Michael’s mind ran rampant, obscuring every thought he once believed to be true.

Michael wanted to believe that the images weren’t real, but he didn’t want to believe that Medb was merely exploiting one of few sources of emotional weakness Michael had. He had no family besides Calum, no belongings, no decent home. Calum, Luke, and Ashton, as well as Evart and Glyndwr to an increasing degree, were the few people who Michael cared deeply for. Everything else was insignificant in comparison to them. Michael knew he would throw all caution to the wind should anything hurt those he loved. He loathed the idea of such weakness, as heartfelt as it might be, being exploited by Medb for whatever ulterior motives she might have.

He adjusted the set of his arms, sliding them so they could rest flat against the table, only to be interrupted by cool metal brushing across his knuckles. He recoiled, the touch sending tendrils of ice through his veins and towards his heart. Michael wanted desperately to watch Luke dance across the water in the moonlight, but he was so frightened that none of it was true.

Except any connection to Luke meant the world to Michael – he needed to know that Luke was faring well. He didn’t want false hope or memories from watching after Luke, but Michael didn’t think he would be able to stay away. He knew it was rash and ill-advised, but he missed Luke dearly. Michael wanted to prove to Evart and Glyndwr that putting their faith into Medb would benefit them all; he didn’t want to threaten the safety of his friends for the sake of thinly created alliances or a veiled glimpse of Luke.

The trust they put into him worried him greatly – there was too much for him to balance. Michael wasn’t a knight; he wasn’t trained in the ways of conducting quests, every interaction and detail of the lands unbeknownst to him. The balance between logic and impulses was awry, and Michael was unsure as to what to do. He was just a young boy who was so determined to give a better life to his brother, to the innumerable innocent people who suffered greatly at the hands of evil. Michael had a heart of gold, and it was just a shame how greatly his heart tended to distract from logic. Michael was willing to place his faith into many, so ignorant to the evils that could lie within them.

He groaned before curling in on himself, using his arms to tuck into his head and block out more of the light. It was too early in the morning for him to be fathoming such notions. He didn’t think it fit to worry his mind over the future yet; his choices were made and seemed sound enough – he had no opportunity to change his mind anyway. Michael just decided to believe that Medb would help them on their quest, no repercussions involved in the slightest.

That was what happened with Luke, the young king with the pretty face and soft voice. Michael had only seen him once before the day he ventured up to the castle to save Calum, so tragically unaware of the quiet beauty and soft heart his king embodied. Luke, who was so well spoken but simultaneously frightened by displeasing anyway, who, despite embodying such regality, was so unlike any king. Michael had immediately placed so much hope and trust in Luke and hardly expected such an outcome. He had hoped to save Calum; Michael never expected being saved as well. Michael never expected falling in love.

He knew in the core of his being that Luke was good of heart, and he had the same trust in Medb, and while falling in love was an outcome that would certainly not happen with Medb, he hoped that he would end up nearly as lucky with her. He wanted to succeed; he wanted to come home and have no further worries.

But unfortunately the future had not yet approached him, and he was still desperately wishing he could doze on the tabletop until it did. His head ached with too many thoughts filling it, and all he wanted to do was to sleep them away. Instead, Michael pushed himself up off the table and stretched his back, arms raised above his head.

Medb’s house only looked marginally brighter in the daylight, the blocked windows doing little to make it seem filled with life. The filtered sunlight only offered insight into the great dustiness the small house held. Turning around to lean sideways in the chair, Michael saw Glyndwr watching him, a sleepy look filling his face – Michael presumed that Glyndwr had taken the last watch – while Medb was off on a sofa, curled up and facing its back to sleep, and Evart was spread on the cushions lining the floor.

“You slept at the table,” Glyndwr said, voice soft so as not to wake the others, an amused smile quirking his lips. There was a lethargy to his movements.

“I must’ve fallen asleep earlier than I had anticipated,” Michael replied, standing up out of the chair and leaning back to ease his aching bones, although it hardly helped much. He stepped carefully over to Glyndwr before sliding down the wall to sit next to him. “Perhaps the cushions would have been more ideal to sleep on.”

“Oh, I assure you, they were hardly comfortable,” Glyndwr said with a small laugh. He reached over to adjust the lay of the blanket over Evart. The gesture was small, but Michael found it endearing.

“You care for him greatly,” Michael whispered, watching the way Glyndwr’s face softened ever so slightly. He looked so much more relaxed whenever he looked over to Evart.

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you ever afraid? Are you ever scared that…,” Michael trailed off. He didn’t want to say what he was planning to just as much as he didn’t want to think about it. His mind was still laden with his thoughts and worries he had when he woke up.

“I am,” Glyndwr said in a whispered that matched Michael’s earlier one, head tipped down towards his toes. It was like their voices were filled with a secret they weren’t sure they could share. “I don’t know what could happen here, on a quest, in training, in war. That’s why I’m always at his side, even if my motives to protect him are different than his to protect me. If anything happens, I won’t forever resent not being there.”

“And if you can’t be at his side?” Michael asked after a moment. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know Glyndwr’s answer. Michael found that he could relate to how Glyndwr was feeling, at the moment at least. His mind was dragging him down and drowning him, and it seemed that Glyndwr’s was as well.

“Then I know others will be there to look after him for me,” Glyndwr responded, face softened. He looked at Michael with empathy. “Luke will be okay.”

“But how do you know that?”

“How does Luke know you’ll be okay? We’re here looking out for you. Luke might not be in as much physical danger, but Calum and Ashton are there to support him,” Glyndwr said, smiling reassuringly at Michael. “He cares about you just as much as you care about him, you know. Ev used to tell me that worrying makes the heart sing when all ends up well, just don’t let it steal your voice before then.”

“Evart is very wise,” Michael said, taking a liking to such a belief. He tipped his head down towards where his feet were resting on the ground, hiding his smile. “And I thought Luke was the bard.”

“Only fleetingly,” Glyndwr teased, causing Michael to laugh slightly. “I heard briefly of your exchanges about King Luke being a bard. His patron is whom?”

“He writes odes to Ashton, primarily,” Michael said, missing such teasing conversations. “His beauty is that of the horse stables.”

Glyndwr choked out a laugh, taken aback. “Oh, of course.”

“You boys sure know how to ensure excellent sleeping,” Medb interrupted, sitting up from the couch, glaring through tired eyes at them. Her curly hair fell in a frizzy mess about her shoulders. “I love being woken to the sound of men talking.”

“We try our utmost,” Michael responded, testing to see how much he could say before Medb would be dissatisfied. She looked at him peculiarly before laughing lightly.

“We need to rise, anyway,” Med said, rather gracefully stepping from the sofa and to the floor, smoothing her clothes in the process. She looked to where Evart was still asleep on the floor. “It appears some of us aren’t as interrupted by early morning discussions as others.”

Glyndwr bent forward and gently nudged Evart’s shoulder, continually bumping him until he stirred and woke. Upon seeing people staring down at him, Evart groaned and turned over, covering his face with his hands. Glyndwr’s smile fell into a laugh at his reaction.

“The sun has risen so we must as well,” Glyndwr said, standing up to lightly kick at Evart’s leg. Once he deemed Evart sufficiently kicked, Glyndwr helped Michael off the ground, the two standing over him.

“Yes, I must get up!” Evart said in a shrill voice, slightly irked by the attention. “Does anyone even know what we’re to focus on today. What, pray tell, have you decided we ought to do?”

“Well, I–” Michael began before he was cut off by Medb. Her lack of conventional conversations was odd to Michael – she was brash and rude to a degree – yet he admired that she was open about her thoughts.

“We need to continue towards the dragon’s lands. You’re from the king’s lands up north, yes? For how long have you been travelling?” Medb inquired, clearly having thought about what they ought to do next more than other of the three had.

“Around two weeks, perhaps?” Michael wondered aloud, knowing that they spent a great period of time off in the grasslands to reach the forest.

“You’ve twice that long if you wish to reach the great dragon at a walking pace. Horseback could easily cut your time in half, but navigating to those barren lands is hardly as easy as returning home. You’re all keen on returning home sooner rather than later. We need to make haste.”

Michael thought about all that Medb said – she was hardly misconstrued. They all wanted to be safe in their homes, away from the dangers they were likely surrounded by. He too wished to continue towards the dragon’s lands without cease – Michael could rest once he was home. Looking to Glyndwr and Evart, Michael tried to gage their reaction, seeking their opinion on the matter.

Evart glance between them for a moment before looking up to Medb. “Alright. I think we ought not postpone any travel if we can help it.”

“I agree. Time is of the essence for all of us,” Glyndwr said. Michael was grateful for both their support in trusting Medb’s insights; they assuaged his concerns from earlier in the morning.

“Then let us make haste,” Michael replied, treading over to where his knapsack rested on the floor. He carefully pulled out the apple Evart tossed to him the previous day then tightened all the straps. After shouldering the bag and ensuring that Luke’s letter was still securely nestled in his pocket, Michael began eating his apple while the others were preparing to leave.

Evart and Glyndwr had finished assisting Medb with the bedding she had given them, stacking cushions against a wall and placing a piling of folded blankets atop it before attending to their own knapsacks. Meanwhile, Medb was pushing clothes and other items into a large bag made from woven cloth. Michael was amused by how carelessly she tossed clothes, stones, books, and countless other items he couldn’t even begin to fathom the uses of into a bag. Eventually she pulled the straps together and over her narrow shoulders before grabbing what looked like a walking stick that was exceptionally tall in comparison to her rather short stature.

“It’s a staff,” Medb said, noticing Michael’s lingering stare. “It channels and concentrates my magic. I find it easier to wield magic if I have the assistance from my staff, although I find it generally more ideal for elemental magic, which is hardly my strong suit. I’m using this primarily as a walking stick if I can.”

Michael nodded, intrigued to see what would happen should Medb use her staff, but not sure if he wanted to actually see such an occasion where she would. Saying no more on the matter, Michael pushed his way out from Medb’s house and through the yard, careful to step over the low fence. Medb lingered by the door for a moment, muttering under her breath with a palm placed flat on the door, while Michael went with Evart and Glyndwr to where the horses were.

Carefully undoing the reins, Michael led Gerard up near the path that passed to Medb’s house, waiting for the others. Evart and Glyndwr were already mounted on their horses, lined up behind Michael’s while he watched Medb step over the fence and walk towards them.

“I was sealing my house away from the eyes of onlookers in my absence,” Medb said, explaining the reasoning for her whispers. Michael nodded, inwardly amazed at her ability to do so.

“Do you have a horse?” Michael asked, steering their conversation a different direction. He sighed to himself when he saw Medb shake her head in dissent. “Do you need one? I’m certain we would be able to work out a system of rotations or–”

“A horse is merely of convenience, Michael – a way to rest the weary body after ceaseless travel. The lands we’ll be passing to won’t allow for a horse to go much faster than my pace,” Medb said before walking in the direction that the dragon’s lands were presumed to be.

After a while, Michael discovered that Medb was hardly wrong in her assertion. The further they ventured into the depths of the forest, the more difficult it was to find a direct path for the horses to take. The ground was beaten smooth by animals, but their paths were too localized and twisted for the horses to tread on for long, all the while low hanging branches caused Michael to stoop more often than not. Michael found himself scanning the ground as far as he could see to optimize their time and minimize any needed backtracking.

The forest grew increasingly darker and the ground was heavily overgrown with invasive plants. The trees looked seeped of life, vines spiraling up their trunks and to their branches, strangling their innocence for the selfishness of reaching the light above. While there were traces of animals through the paths, nests, and footprints fading on the ground, the forest seemed so empty and abandoned. Darkness was creeping in and driving life away from the forest.

It felt that the dragon’s lands, so damaged and broken, were spreading their destruction to the forest, which was normally filled with such beautiful creatures – it used to exude life. The edge of the forest where the trees met the grasslands was still embracing the beauty it had, but there was a stain running deep through its veins, poison seeping from the dragon’s lands and into the heart of the forest. The forest needed to be saved just as much as the kingdom back home.

Michael’s heart ached at seeing how deteriorated the trees had grown, how it looked ill and faded. Evil crept in and tainted the air, afflicting everything around it. The forest was seeped of its colors, and that didn’t help Michael retain his own.

“Will killing the great dragon bring end to this ruination?” Michael asked Medb, calling down to where she was leading them. She was a few paces ahead, knocking away brush and harmful plants with her staff so they wouldn’t entangle and touch the horses’ legs.

“The rise of the great dragon has brought great fear to these lands. The gentle spirits that used to dance between the trees and whisper to flowers have since fled. There are few who have remained to stand their ground. Areas like these used to be teeming with gentle life, but no one remains now.”

“Would they come back?” Glyndwr’s voice asked from behind Michael, rushed yet soft as though he was exceptionally worried that the area would remain lifeless forevermore. “If we ousted the main source of evil tainting the forest would they return?”

“With any threats gone, the spirits and animals could return and drive the darkness away. I’m sure they’re just waiting until these lands are safe again.”

“When I stood upon Luke’s balcony I could see out to the forest – it seemed so alluring yet embodying such hatred. It appeared to have been filled with the smoke of the great dragon’s fires until it just faded into ash,” Michael said, thinking aloud. The forest was dark already, but if the view he had from the balcony was any indicator, where they were wasn’t nearly as dark as the land beyond. He didn’t wish to venture into such evil.

“It doesn’t get any better as we emerge into the dragon’s lands,” Medb said, rushing forward a bit before ushering the horses through the safer path. She only served to confirm what Michael thought. “Everything is burnt away – no trees, no grass, scarcely any water – only ash remains. There are merely rocks that lay jagged and rough as though the earth was burned away and only its scars remained.”

“With the light gone from here, does that mean other evils besides the dragon now dwell here?” Evart asked. Upon hearing such a notion, Michael immediately began looking more in his peripherals than the paths in front of him.

“Perhaps. It is very likely,” Medb said, appearing to be hardly afflicted by such thoughts as that. She did have great strength against evils, but Michael was unsure if he should worry or appreciate her lack of concern. “Who is Luke?”

Michael’s grip on Gerard’s reins fell slack, his arms falling limply to his lap. Gerard continued without being prompted while Michael just stared. It wasn’t that he didn’t fancy talking about Luke – he knew full well that he could speak about Luke’s every detail without cease. Michael didn’t want Medb to be privy to knowledge about Luke she didn’t deserve to know yet; talking about him to her made him seem so put on display, so vulnerable to her unwarranted scrutiny.

But if Michael was being honest, there were times where talking about Luke – even thinking about him – was the last thing he wanted to do. The forest instilled a numbness into him, and he wasn’t always sure he wanted to escape it. It was hard to feel broken if he couldn’t feel at all, and Michael thought it best to avoid thoughts of Luke after his conversation with Glyndwr.

“Luke is the king,” Glyndwr offered once Michael never responded.

“What were you doing on the king’s balcony?” Medb inquired, looking pointedly at Michael. Her voice sounded light and curious, no hint of mockery in it. While the notion relieved Michael slightly, he still felt the need to hide Luke away from her – from himself, even momentarily.

“King Luke was telling him of the lay of the land. The king’s balcony offers the greatest vantage point,” Evart supplied, still retaining their degree of truth without offering all of it.

“Up in the north atop that great hill, I don’t doubt it, but how come Michael is unable to speak for himself?”

Michael looked over to Medb, eyes slightly glazed over still. “I’m sorry, I’m feeling a tad lightheaded and wasn’t paying attention well enough. Perhaps we ought to stop for a brief time.”

“Alright,” Medb agreed, though her assent was hardly needed, dropping the conversation as she led them around trees and to a patch of the forest where the underbrush was sparse enough for them to sit upon.

Michael slid to the ground first, loosely tying Gerard’s reins around the nearest tree before sitting heavily on the ground. What with the never ending undesirable thoughts, heaviness to the tainted air of the forest, and the weariness, Michael felt exceptionally exhausted. His hand subconsciously went to his pocket to feel for Luke’s letter before he slipped his knapsack off and looked for something to eat.

He wanted to read Luke’s letter, but he knew that the lack of motivation he was experiencing only weeks into his quest would pale in comparison to when he was nearing the approach of the great dragon. Michael figured that reading it impulsively would only make him upset in the near future.

“Here,” Evart said, interrupting Michael’s rifling to offer him a piece of bread that was dark in color and laden with seeds. Michael looked up from the piece of bread and to Evart’s eyes, seeing just how concerned Evart was for Michael’s wellbeing. “It should help.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, biting into the corner of the bread. After a moment he turned to Medb. “You spoke as though you’ve been well beyond the reaches of your house.”

“For a time I too was driven away by the dragon. I ventured off towards the land of men and saw up to King Luke’s castle, but the thought of fleeing like the rest, I couldn’t handle it. I was filled with a determination to fight for what I cared for rather than seek refuge like a coward. If I wanted to be saved, I wouldn’t wait around for someone else to save me. But that was before I saw the sheer size of the dragon and took to wallowing instead.”

Medb’s voice when she was telling stories caught Michael’s interest, for it held such drastic lilts that seemed so uncharacteristic of her frequently maudlin nature. She spoke so theatrically yet moved so inexpressively; it seemed to Michael that while she could quell her gesticulations, her excitement bested her. The genuineness in her speech let Michael glimpse at who Medb truly was.

They sat without speaking for a while, listening to how the silence of the forest screamed mockeries at them, each occupied with themselves. Michael sat eating bread, watching as Medb walked in interlocking circles without end. Glyndwr and Evart were off in a hushed conversation that Michael couldn’t make out. He could only hear the elongated gaps of nothingness that interrupted it.

After a moment, Michael saw movement in the shadows of the forest, and slowly stood up from the ground, drawing his sword carefully so as not to make any noise. Upon his moving, Medb stopped her circling and turned in the direction Michael was facing, stepping backwards towards him with her staff raised. As she reached Michael’s side, Glyndwr and Evart stood up to mirror them a few paces away near the horses, trying to prevent them from being spooked.

Michael wasn’t prepared to see a young girl come out of the shadows. She stepped toe first, her bare feet making hardly any sound against the ground, all the while her green eyes were fixed unblinking on Michael. The girl hardly seemed like a threat, but a cruel smile twisted on her face, eyes dull. Michael started slowly towards her, sword tip raised level with the ground, but stopped when Medb held out her arm in Michael’s direction.

“Don’t,” Medb said, voice stern and face filled with a fright Michael hadn’t seen before. “Please trust me.”

“She’s just a child,” Michael muttered, but raised his guard nonetheless.

Upon hearing their exchange, the girl smirked before her body contorted, shoulders and head thrown back. She spread her arms out near her hips, palms out towards Glyndwr, eyes going white before they closed. Glyndwr stood motionless, stare starting to dim. Michael wanted to tell him to move, to run, to do anything but stand there, but he was uncertain if that’s what would have been the best; the vacillation rendered him useless.

Evart, sensing everyone’s inaction, pressed forward and pushed Glyndwr to the ground. They toppled together, making it nearly impossible for Michael to differentiate between the two. Not a moment later, the girl collapsed to her knees, letting out an awful nose, and the horse behind where Glyndwr had stood let out what sounded like a scream as it fell to the ground as well.

“Run,” Medb shouted at Glyndwr, who looked just as horrified as Michael felt. “Right now. You need to run far away.”

Evart pulled Glyndwr up from the ground, but he didn’t flee, he just stood staring between everyone. Their time was running out quickly, the girl on the ground already stirring, yet Glyndwr stayed. Michael nodded at him, telling him that he needed to leave; he didn’t understand what was happening, but given the way he reacted earlier, Glyndwr needed to leave before it happened again.

“Go,” Medb said, sweeping her arm in Glyndwr’s direction, causing a soft wind to knock him away from where the three of them stood encircling the girl. Evart pointed into the forest, and, needing no other prompting, Glyndwr disappeared into the shadows behind the trees.

Michael then turned back to the girl, who stood up off the ground and tipped her head in curiosity at the three of them. He raised his sword, wishing desperately not to kill anyone or anything besides the dragon on his quest, but wondered whether that fate would be likely for much longer. Evart shakily rose his own sword, seeing even more ill prepared than Michael. Meanwhile, Medb was muttering in tongued foreign to him.

Medb held onto her staff tightly, hands going white from her grip, before pushing it towards the girl, her whispers rising into a chant as she finished her incantation. The girl then fell to the ground and didn’t stir. Michael stared, simultaneously amazed and frightened by what he had witnessed – he didn’t quite know what happened. The girl remained unmoved.

“What did you–” Evart began, walking towards Medb rather angrily. Michael stepped in front of him, holding him back from getting any closer. He needed the lack of trust to dissolve because he wasn’t sure for how much longer he could handle mediating.

“She’s asleep,” Medb said softly, almost concerned at Evart’s rage. “I didn’t kill her. I made her sleep for long enough that we can run far from here. You can go see. She’s still breathing.”

Michael stood for a moment, back pressed flush against Evart, eyes searching Medb face for something he wasn’t sure of, before turning around to look sternly at Evart. Once they reached a nonverbal consent, Michael lightly put his hand on Evart’s arm and led him towards the small girl. He crouched to the ground to see the rise and fall of her chest. Glancing over at Evart as they rose, Michael noticed that his features relaxed slightly.

“What happened to him?” Evart whispered. He glanced down at the girl on the ground. “What did she do to him?”

“Ev, I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Michael said, soft and reassuring. “Go find Glyndwr – he’s alone right now and probably more frightened than you. I’ll worry about what happened.”

“I shouldn’t. I just–” Evart cut himself off, sighing slightly before looking up to Michael. “I just stood there, watching. He could have been hit. He could have–”

“But he didn’t. He didn’t, and now he needs someone. He needs _you_ , Ev.”

Evart nodded, looking greatly affected by the events that had recently happened, then slowly turned around and ventured into the forest to find Glyndwr. Michael stared after him, the reality of the events slowly dawning on him. Glyndwr was moments from falling victim to the girl, trading places with the poor horse that was struck down – he could have easily died. Michael was practically devastated by such things almost happening; Michael nearly laughed, knowing how greatly the rest of the quest would tear away at his wellbeing.

“That wasn’t merely a young girl,” Michael stated, pivoting in the dirt to face Medb. She looked up at him with a sad expression, appearing as though all fronts she put up to hide herself were finally torn down.

“She’s a faerie,” Medb said, glancing down at the small figure on the ground. “She’s hardly young, too. Her power is vast.”

“How could you tell she was a faerie instead of a girl? The reason we stumbled across your house is because a young boy with markings spiraling up his arms ran from it. How is she any different?”

“The boy you saw is a druid – a healer in the forest. He is too pure of heart to try his chances with a witch, benign or otherwise. You could tell she’s a faerie because of how she looks. She walked toe first, her bare feet, her green eyes – all the mark of a faerie.”

“What did she do to Glyndwr?” Michael asked, voice hushed to a whisper. He was frightened but needed to cease his ignorance about the ways of faeries – Luke’s books could only prepare him for so much as opposed to actually approaching on in the forest.

“Faeries are well known for exploiting men, making them fall in love. Glyndwr has a great heart, and he’s given his love and compassion, for whatever reason be it family, friend, or otherwise, to someone nearby – Evart, I presume, although you would know better than I do. She wanted his love for her own, so she decided to take it.”

“Her motives are as simple as that?”

“Yes, faeries are keen on getting their way. She practically rendered him incapacitated. Evart saved him. We need to continue quickly, though. I’m not sure how much longer she’ll stay asleep for. What of the horses?” Medb turned to look at the felled horse, her face falling with a sadness.

“Evart’s horse was the one who fell victim. I can walk and offer my horse to him,” Michael sad, a sadness filling him as well. The darkness of the forest truly had its own evils, and Michael could feel in weighing heavily on his soul.

“You’re the hero of this story, Michael. You need to keep up your strength,” Medb said, walking lightly over towards the horse. Michael followed slightly behind her.

“Is my point not valid still? If I’m the hero of this story, am I not the one who offers to walk?”

Michael watched as Medb crouched down and pressed her fingertips to her lips before touching them to the horse’s forehead. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply before removing her hand and standing up.

“Men are so foolish sometimes,” Medb said, a small laugh escaping her throat, though it lacked any trace of humor. She looked down at the horse. “His soul will rest easily now.”

“I want to take this moment to apologize to you,” Michael stated, knowing it was due time for him to say such things. A warmth rushed to his cheeks, but he didn’t bother fighting it down.

“What for?” Medb asked, although the quirk to her smile suggested she knew exactly what Michael was talking about. Her knowing behavior amused Michael.

“I didn’t always trust you at first, and I was misplaced in such a decision. Your heart is gentle. I was afraid that if I put too much faith into you that I would be hurt more should I be wrong, but I was wrong about _not_ putting faith in you. The three of us wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t been there for us.”

“I don’t find any fault in your choices – men don’t enjoy trusting things as uncertain as magic. There’s great spontaneity in it if one doesn’t know how to wield it.”

“I knew that finding magic in the forest would either help save me or be detrimental to my chances. I now know that you’ll help save us all.”

“It’s what I want, to save the forest, nothing more than that.”

Michael smiled at Medb, so exceptionally grateful for how much she had given them in such a short time frame. With somewhere to sleep for the night, extensive knowledge of the forest, and providing great assistance in their fights, Michael would be so lost without her at his side. Their conversation dissolved into the screaming silence of the forest as they took to spinning in slow circles to wait for Evart and Glyndwr to return.

After a short while, Michael saw them emerge from the shadows of the trees. Glyndwr was wrapped up carefully in Evart’s arms, frightened more by the happenings of the day than anything else. He looked so fragile in the single moment, shrouded by the dark and small in Evart’s arms. Perhaps they would all be changed by the time they returned. The colors the forest was painting them darkened them greatly. Michael only hoped Luke could bring back some of the light that used to reside within him.

Their journey through the forest maintained the same monotony as the days passed. The dangers they happened upon were hardly as formidable as the faerie, but Michael’s resilience grew thin. He was weary and discouraged, so seeped of energy. He missed the liveliness of the forest near Medb’s house; the dragon’s lands weakened not only the forest but Michael as well.

Michael held out hope, though. He refused to be weakened by the despair that cast his veil over him. Michael needed to succeed, not so much to prove himself, but to save so many weary souls. Like Calum, like Luke and Ashton, there were so many bright people in an unsafe world, and Michael wished to provide them refuge. At times, when the sunlight was sparse and his thoughts were loud, Michael almost didn’t care if he didn’t manage to save himself, so long as the others were safe. He pushed such thoughts from his mind, though, as difficult as it might be, because his desire to return home was even greater.

Perhaps his imagination grew vast and out of his grasp after being in such dull lands for so long, but Michael grew increasingly motivated by the notion of seeing Luke again, as well as Calum and Ashton, despite how much their memories pained him. Michael longed to see the softness of Luke’s features, the sharpness of his nose, the warmth emanating from his heart, and the cool touch of his hands, and he knew the only way he could see Luke is to keep pressing forward; Michael told himself that every step further away from Luke was slowly shortening the time until he could return. It was desperation that drove his determination.

But determination aside, weariness was still set in his bones and monotony clouded his mind; as much as Medb reassured them that they weren’t treading in circles, Michael felt that his journeying would be endless. He almost wanted to cross paths with anything that would provide reassuring that they weren’t stuck in an endless darkness, that would give way to excitement, even if it was merely a colorful flower or the singing of a bird. Almost. There was security in finding little excitement, but that didn’t cease anyone’s complaining much. The interruption of their tedium would, though.

“Michael, are you certain you don’t wish to take a break from walking, even for a short while?” Evart asked, lifting up his reins as if offering them to Michael.

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, Ev,” Michael replied, his answer verbatim to what he had said in previous days.

“You appear as though dragging your body further through the forest is the most laborious thing you’ve ever done,” Evart said, a small laugh filling his voice though still exceptionally concerned.

Michael laughed as well, though at the ridiculousness of how scripted their conversations had become, turning to walk backwards and face Evart. “Perhaps I’ve just lived a life of exceptional sloth.”

Glyndwr watched them, expression soft and amused but voice unheard – he had grown quiet in the passing days, still greatly affected by the day of the faerie. Michael was curious as to what Evart had told him in the forest that day. They had grown closer since then, yet Glyndwr grew quieter. Michael worried about the wellbeing of his friends increasingly with each passing day.

Offering Glyndwr a small smile, Michael turned back to walk forward once more, only to see arrows held firmly in bows pointing towards him, mere steps away from touching his skin. Acting quickly, Michael tread backwards, estoc raised before him. Behind him, Michael heard the horses protest and rear before feet landed heavily on the ground. Medb was at his side, staff pointed outwardly and a frown staining her face, while Evart tried to quell the horses and shield Glyndwr simultaneously.

Michael began turning on his toe, discovering that they were fully encircled by what appeared to be men. Their figures were graceful, tall and slender yet filled with a strength so hidden by their etherealness. Bows were directed towards them, held with an ease that suggested how well skilled they were. Michael stared at them in wonderment yet refused to let his guard down.

One man was dressed more elegantly than the others, fine lines of gold tracing patterns across his clothes and through the woodgrain of his bow. Michael glanced at the man’s face, his features angular and lean, only to notice that he wasn’t a man at all. They were surrounded by elves.

“What are three men doing with the likes of such evils?” the golden elf asked, a cold and emotionless expression on his face. He gestured towards Medb with the tip of his arrow, the corner of his mouth curling upwards upon seeing the way Michael stepped between them. “Oh, there is loyalty. Pray tell, weakling, why do you conspire with magic?”

Michael looked to Evart and Glyndwr, seeking their opinion on a safe response before offering it aloud, but found them to be more concerned with one another’s wellbeing. He grasped desperately at fragmented thoughts to create an answer that held some degree of neutrality in it. Michael didn’t wish to make enemies merely by having contrasting choices.

“Oh, don’t bother yourself with their approval. They’re weaker than you are,” the elf said, waving his hand loosely in Glyndwr and Evart’s direction before muttering about all of them being broken. Michael was beginning to dislike the detachment and carelessness of the elf’s mannerisms and speech.

“We three,” Michael began, patient and slow as he gestured to himself, Glyndwr, and Evart. “We were sent by King Luke from the northern lands to seek out the great dragon and cease its ruination.”

“You three?” the elf asked, a hint of mockery in his voice at such a small number. He opened his mouth to continue but was interrupted by a woman stepping out from the shadows.

She was beautiful, bringing a light with her that was so rarely found in the forest any more. A white dress was draped over her shoulders, cascading down with ripples of golden thread that matched the male elf’s, and dark hair fell in waves to her waist. Michael thought she looked like molten gold. She looked to the elf that had been speaking before, silencing him, then turned towards Michael.

“Why only three?” she asked, voice soft and so unlike the man’s.

“The kingdom is weak and long overdue for falling victim to the wrath of the great dragon; its walls need ever present protection. The armies are now tasked with watching over the kingdom – they can’t be spared for such a desperate chase as this one. We hope to succeed, but there’s a certain logic that must withstand. Luke chose we three to find the great dragon.”

“You call your king by his name,” the woman said, a smile gracing her lips. There was a brightness to her eyes that Michael appreciated – they held curiosity rather than judgement. He liked her much more than the previous elf they had spoken to.

“I do,” Michael all but whispered. He felt so scrutinized, so exposed, like such admissions would make their underlying truth all the more real. Michael was almost desperate to cease talking about Luke, in his own selfish way.

“How come?”

“He’s hardly just a king.”

The woman smiled, almost approving of his answer, though Michael knew little of what she took of it. Should they speak any more than the conversation that was already being had, Michael knew that he would desire to speak to the elf more. He didn’t understand her expressions, her thoughts of him, of their cause, and he greatly sought validation from someone of such light, rivaled only by Luke’s.

“And the witch?” the male elf asked, speaking clearly over the other’s shoulder. She sent him a disapproving glance, but her eyes sought an answer nevertheless.

“We happened upon her many weeks ago, and we decided to give her a chance. She’s proven reliable and genuine. Magic is misconstrued to be malevolent, but she is far from that. She’s saved us many times before, and will no doubt do so again. She holds compassion within her for the life of the forest, not the hatred of evilness. The great dragon is a formidable being, and we need many allies on our side.”

“How many?”

“As many as we can find. We want to make it home,” Michael said, trying to keep the desperation from his voice. The statement _I want to make it home_ still hung in the air between them.

The elven woman smiled, small and so laden with sadness, before turning towards the man laced with gold. They spoke softly, all the while the plainly dressed elves trained their arrows on the group. Meanwhile, the four had their weapons trailing towards the ground. Michael traced the tip of his sword in the dirt, sharing a sideways glance with Medb, who was leaning heavily on her staff. Glyndwr had slung his own bow across his back, opting instead for leaning into Evart’s side. It seemed to be their established dynamic, as Glyndwr and Evart were distanced from the group but together still. The privacy and intimacy of their support brought a greatly needed happiness to Michael’s heart.

After a time, the female elf turned around and stood before Michael. She looked haloed against the darkness of their surroundings, ethereal and beautiful. Michael fathomed she was made from the flowers he longed to see in such death filled lands and painted by the same silver that shone in Luke’s crown. She gazed at him a moment, expression so incredibly soft until it fell into a smile.

“We can help you make it home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient, friends, I was out of town for a week. I did write a lot of [blurbs](http://archiveofourown.org/series/476182) while I was gone, though. Anyway. Evdwr is alive right now. I found a song for them which you can find [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1YxgZtYTLNg)!
> 
> I decided on the faerie's powers from [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fairy) as well as just plain ol' creativity. I have exciting news, which you can see in the end notes for the entire fic which should be below.
> 
> Comments and kudos mean the world, lovelies!
> 
> If you have any questions, things to say, thoughts on Evart/Glyndwr rising, come hang out on [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com).


	9. the stars begin to crumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _when the night is dark_  
>  _i am carried by your spark_  
>  _and these days all I think about_  
>  _is coming home_  
>  -[When I Come Home by SayWeCanFly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGyrEcfiyrk)

Michael’s mind was in a haze, so dense like a fog lit by the sun, obscuring the rest of the world with its shroud of drowsiness. There was a cloud about him, so heavy and cool, enveloping him. All the weariness in his bones was slipping, relaxing away slowly yet painfully as his muscles fought for an escape from his exertion. Feelings began slipping from him, drawn out slowly, leaving him only with a numb exhaustion in his mind and dread settling in his chest.

After a short time spent with them, Michael learned that the elves were filled with light, bright and soft like the sun fighting through the obscurities of a cloudy morning, but they were so carefully reserved and distant in their ways. Michael felt like he was being carried off into the sky, so ignorantly unaware of the way he would fall back to the dark earth – approaching the sun, light such a great distance from him, made the fall all the longer. Worry coursed through his veins and sped his heart because the elves were the haze of the morning that was obscuring his reason, and Michael feared what would happen once he truly saw their intentions. They were offered – promised, even – safe refuge home, promised success, and as much as Michael’s tired body, tired spirit and mind, begged of him to accept the assistance, his heart told him otherwise.

They insisted upon him and Medb riding horses alongside Evart and Glyndwr, pure white to mirror the elves’ light, and the feeling of the aches his body held slowly seeping away was not unwanted; the concern at following the elves off into the barren lands of the forest with little knowledge of their destination was. Michael wanted to find a haven in the forest, so tucked away and protected from the darkness.

He couldn’t help but think about how little say he was offered in the end; the four followed along blindly with lacking information as to where they were going and for what purpose. As much as promised safe passage home meant to Michael, the trials through which he would have to pass to get home worried him. Michael feared he was being led away into realms he was already too late in escaping.

Medb looked so intoxicated by the notion of safety, so willing to give up everything after such a trying journey to where they had finally made it. She fought so hard yet succumbed so easily to her previous admissions of little motivation – Medb didn’t hesitate to give into release from weariness. Glyndwr and Evart simply appeared to be exceptionally tired, and the offer of fully ceasing their keen alertness for even a fleeting moment appealed to them greatly. For the first time since their journey’s start, Michael was the sole one in the position of not trusting what they were blindly accepting.

The female elf spun of gold – Adelaide, the leader of the elves, as Michael later learned – did well in assuaging his concerns before they spiraled vastly beyond his control all over again. She was explicit in her plans, after a great period of ignorance on Michael’s part. Adelaide told him of their lands, residing where the river twisted out from the heart of the forest lands and into a lake, and their safety as compared to the tainted and ashen lands they were venturing through. There, alliance could be discussed and armies could assist in the battle with the dragon.

Adelaide was the embodiment of warmth and light, so filled with gold; she reassured Michael of their circumstances. He felt the confidence of success building within him. Her fellow elf of gold, her brother Wystan, caused every piece of strength towered up in his chest to come tumbling down. Wystan was pyrite, filled with smiles so hollow and eyes so lifeless. Wystan made Michael unsure as to whether he should trust the elves’ motives after all. There was such unbalance between the nature of the elves he grew acquainted with in their days of travel, dividing Michael’s thoughts all the more.

So he rode in agony, his horse well trained enough to follow the others blindly, while he felt his own mind crumble within him. All that Michael tried to desperately protect himself against – of falling to pieces, of returning home more broken than he was just by how trying the journey was than the dragon itself, of slowly feeling his chest cave in until nothing was left – was creeping in and tainting him. Michael could feel how tarnished and rusted he was becoming inside.

It tore him apart, in its own unique way, because Michael felt that he was blending in with the decaying lands around him. He ached for the grass to return, for the colors to surround him and paint him back to who he was, the man before the layers of dust and weight of the world, the man who felt secure in Luke’s arms with his family by his side. Michael felt himself fading away like the ancient artwork that lined the castle corridors. He didn’t want to be another piece of history bleeding away into blurred lines and tattered edges. Michael didn’t want to be memorialized in such an intangible way – he wanted security in returning, in embodying the history he created, not falling faded as a legend.

Time passed by slowly, minutes ticking away into hours and days, as the sun made its journey and they made their own, both without cease. Sometimes Michael felt like he was in a lucid dream filled with horrid visions of a desolate world, and all Michael could long for was the warmth and refuge of waking up in Luke’s bed. Michael didn’t realize how greatly a toll his quest had taken on him until he was no longer dragging himself bodily through to the next day, when his mind wasn’t thoroughly distracted day in and day out.

When the forest started lightening, Michael thought his mind had deteriorated to such an unstable state that there was little hope in his success – surely he shouldn’t have felt so strongly about glimpsing life. His fingers intertwined themselves in the horse’s mane, giving him something to grasp at. Michael shouldn’t have been so uneasy from seeing green after such an expanse of ashen trees, he shouldn’t have, but after living through lacking color in his monochromatic world, the interruption of such grew emotion in his chest that Michael hadn’t felt for an undesirably long time. He felt the reaches of safety finally within his grasp.

The elven lands were a novel beautiful, almost ethereal in appearance, like they were the source of the light the elves exuded. Once the horses tread through the encircling river, all the darkness was kept at bay, and the light finally touched Michael once more. The water was so clear that it washed away all the dust that tainted the forest, and, despite it kicking up from the horses’ high and quick steps, soaking the legs of Michael’s trousers, its coldness struck life into Michael’s chest.

It was the trees that caused all of Michael’s unease to slide away, the way they stretched skyward without cease, surrounded by pale green leaves. Spread through their branches were light grey platforms and houses, elves treading lightly and soundlessly above the ground and down the stairs that spiraled along the trunks. Off in the clearing by the river, buildings of white stone arced around a single lectern placed in the center of the courtyard. Hope and light were evident by their peaceful demeanor of living, despite how deplorable life seemed beyond the reaches of the river. Luke would have blended into the elven lands well – his beauty would have matched perfectly.

Once they passed into their momentary refuge, the four were ushered from their horses and towards small homes of the same pale wood that filled the trees, nestled against dark rocks near the river. Distantly, Michael could hear water rush from the rocks and into the river below, a soft and melancholic drone of sound. After being shown their respective beds, nameless elves informed the four that Adelaide would return to speak to them in short time, and were left alone to settle their few belongings into their houses.

Michael offered to lead the horses towards a post to keep them tethered for a short while to allow his friends more time in their rooms, disregarding their polite protests; he knew just how greatly they wished to sink into the cushions and blankets waiting for them. So he waved them off and took hold of both horses reins, walking them slowly away to the other side of the small area of guest houses.

Tying the reins of Glyndwr’s horse first, Michael took a moment to lightly pet along Gerard’s forehead, missing his horse greatly despite how much he insisted that Evart ride him instead of he. Gerard was one of Michael’s few ties to Luke left, and the horse had led him thus far, hardly ever straying to unsafe regions. Michael felt an unwarranted sadness fill him, so he quickly tied off Gerard’s reins and took to the house deemed momentarily his.

Inside, Michael found a single bed frame and a table, along with a few blankets. Despite being sparsely furnished, Michael felt comfortable with what he was given – he needn’t any luxury other than that which he could find back at his true home. He carefully dropped his knapsack onto the table and felt for the crumpled letter still housed in his pocket, then sat heavily on the bed. Michael pulled off his boots and socks, rubbing warmth into his damp feet.

Michael felt like a single man off to fight a war, and despite the number of men who have flanked his sides to assist, Michael would end the final battle alone. The feeling sunk within his chest, and he hoped it wouldn’t become true. Almost nothing could remove the tensions from his weary shoulders. He knew now, knew from the beginning, even, that it would be his sword to drive through the dragon’s heart. Michael wished dearly that nothing would be driven through his.

As Michael started rolling up the legs to his trousers in an attempt to keep the damp cloth from touching his skin, the door to his small hut opened, letting out a soft whine at the movement, and Evart and Glyndwr quietly filed in. Medb followed shortly after, and the four perched themselves on Michael’s bed. They sat in a momentary silence, letting the events of the past long while settle in the air between them.

“My, how greatly this quest has turned out differently than what I ever anticipated,” Evart said to interrupted the silence. Michael was glad he spoke what they all thought.

“First Medb, now the elves. We’ve quite an army at our side now,” Michael agreed, although his voice was quiet. His skepticism wouldn’t be as easily shaken. Every step closer to success meant an increasingly cautious voice whispering in his head. He reached the point where failure wouldn’t do.

“I never thought…,” Evart trailed, unsure of how to finish.

“I agree,” Michael whispered because he did agree. No matter the ending he filled in, it still reined true. Every aspect of his life was completely shifted, and Michael didn’t think he would live to see such things happen. He hardly thought he would see Calum survive another winter, let alone any single event that transpired since Calum grew healthy again. He never thought any of it would have happened.

“What are we to do with the elves?” Medb asked, steering the conversation elsewhere to what they needed to discuss. It was the question looming over them, unanswered in fear that finding its truth wouldn’t be the desired outcome – they wanted to find security.

“Seek their assistance. We’re so incredibly close to the end of this all. We need allies, not enemies,” Evart said. He was sat opposite of Medb yet turned to speak directly to Michael. Often, Michael wondered when he became the deciding voice; it was a responsibility he didn’t seek.

“And should we gain allies? What of King Luke? Of Adelaide? What of the longevity of it all?” Medb said, still inquiring about the future and rightly so. She spoke questions they needed to answer, as much as they didn’t wish to.

“I’m– I don’t know. Longevity is what we need – Luke made mention of an alliance with the elves before I left – but the focus is what’s to happen right now. We need to secure their support first and foremost. If we can manage security beyond this battle, then that’s even better than their promised safe passage home,” Michael said, elaboration weary and thinly explained. He just needed success and protection until he was home. Future be damned, Michael needed security now.

“All right,” Evart said, voice agreeing yet slow. Michael figured Evart was thinking a number of steps ahead of him, and began wondering why Evart wasn’t the logical and deciding one of their group instead. “We’ll talk to Adelaide and whomever else, and try for the best.”

Michael nodded in weary agreement before leaning his head back against the wall and tucking his legs closer to him to offer more room for his friends. Medb took advantage of his offered space, but Evart and Glyndwr were just as cramped on the edge of the cushion as before. Michael sighed softly. Glyndwr looked so broken as of late, and Michael didn’t know how to make him whole. Never did Michael understand the stories where people tore themselves apart to save the world until he witnessed it. Such altruism built the world up from rubble and broke martyrs into pieces. But perhaps he was living such a lifestyle in his own unique way.

When Adelaide came as promised, she spoke only to Michael as though the others were not sitting just stitches away from him on the bedding. She inquired after holding a meeting to discuss their views of the war with the great dragon. It was the conversation Michael had been seeking, so easily presented to him.

“Would you be available to speak now?” Adelaide asked, voice still as soft as it had been in the forest all those days ago. She asked her question as though their conversation was already a hindrance to Michael.

“Of course,” Michael said, not needing to glance at the others to know their view on the matter. If the course of their days could be expedited, even in simple ways, so would their return. Michael stood to pull on his damp socks and lace his boots, catching the others rise behind him.

“Is it not just you in attendance?” Adelaide asked, speaking to Michael but watching as the others waited to leave. For a moment, Michael admired her blissful ignorance. “Are you not the leader?”

Michael smiled softly, trying to suppress his pity – he was far too exhausted to put much effort into greatly appreciating the differences between men and elves, only understanding and respecting them. “We are equals. We’ve no use for hierarchical divisions when each of our attributes is necessary.”

“All right,” Adelaide said, and Michael quietly thanked her unquestioning support. “If you’ll follow me.”

Michael followed Adelaide from the door of his small house, Medb following closely at his side while Evart and Glyndwr trailed slightly behind them. They followed the worn pathways back towards the river, weaving between the trees and beneath the raised platforms, before skirting towards the arc of stone buildings.

Upon closer glance, Michael saw that the one placed centrally was the largest. Large pillars supported its clerestory roof, the row of windows providing a view of the many elves pacing within the building. Adelaide took them through the dark wooden doors towards the long table placed in the center of the main room. Michael could hear heeled shoes tread on the floor above him.

When they entered the room, stood side by side as though on display and taken aback by the scene before them, the quiet discussion of the elves grew quiet as their attention directed towards the four. Michael refused to offer any expression other than his quiet indifference to their stares, and hoped greatly that his friends were doing the same. After a moment with no reaction, Michael raised his eyebrows slightly as though challenging someone to speak. He didn’t fancy their unnecessary and unceasing looks.

“Adelaide,” a voice said instead, and after following the direction of its sound, Michael saw it belonged to Wystan. The expression on his face was hardly pleasing for Michael to see. Were he not greatly opposed to him, Michael would have been frightened. “You’ve brought both men and evil into our halls.”

“Wystan, your insights are not needed,” Adelaide said calmly before turning to the rest of those encircling the table. Her expression was set and determined, a strength gracing her delicate features. Michael knew that whatever she was to say next would have been accepted without comment, save for Wystan. “I’ve brought friends into our halls, friends who will aid us in not only our saving, but the saving of the entire forest and its creatures.”

“And what, pray tell, do you think we shall gain from such ill-fated alliances?” Wystan asked. Michael wondered both what made him so embittered a person and how he could be related to Adelaide when they seemed so opposite one another. He sought answers to a number of stories he hadn’t the time to hear.

Adelaide smiled coldly at Wystan before offering Michael and his friends chairs around the table. Michael hesitantly sat where he was directed to, Medb on his right and Adelaide on his left. Everyone who had been standing prior took their seats as well, Wystan being the last to begrudgingly sit opposite from Adelaide.

The meeting proceeded with formalities Michael wasn’t acquainted with, before delving into conversations consisting primarily of generic topics regarding the wellbeing of the elven lands. With nothing to add to their discussions pertaining to crops and the security of the land’s borders, Michael took to listening, amused by the civility of the elves’ meeting.

Michael only witnessed the aftermath of one of Luke’s council meetings, and he fathomed them to be much more hostile than what he had the privilege to sit in on. After Luke’s discussions with the council members, he crept quietly into his bedroom and curled into Michael’s side wordlessly. Michael had wrapped his arms around Luke’s waist and held him to his chest.

It was in the short time between his and Luke’s duel and the departure for his quest, and despite the bruise on his leg and the pain in his heart, Michael had relished the moment. Luke was warm in his arms, softly complaining about working with the other nobles, yet still keeping Michael’s spirits up.

Luke spoke of his council meetings as them being a burden he suffered unwilling yet had to partake in nevertheless. He clutched at Michael’s hands with a newfound desperation because of how unbearable they were, and yet with the elves, everyone was so well-spoken and patient, save for Wystan. Despite how differently they thought at times, their consensuses were reached peacefully. Michael held out great hope that such would be the case once their discussion turned towards his fate.

“I’m sure you’ve all taken noticed to the men sitting in on our council meeting,” Adelaide said after a great period of other discussions. Her mention of them caused Michael to peer at her intently while fiddling with his fingers in his lap, trying to ease his worries. “And I’m more than certain you’re all curious as to why we’ve king’s men and magic taken to so kindly.”

“Yes, we are all unsure of your intentions with this, my lady,” a male elf said from the other end of the table, likely unnecessarily. His face seemed kind enough, what with its grandfatherly expressions, white hair framing his age wrinkled skin.

Adelaide nodded civilly in his direction, acknowledging his addition, before continuing. “We are at war, as much as I hate to admit to such violence. Our safety, our future, our people, everything threatened greatly by the great dragon. And we are lucky to pass unscathed as of yet, but we shan’t stay sitting in a forest half prepared to burn. We, as a people, must prevail against the wrath of the dragon.

“The king of the land of men sent out three of his knights, clearly braver and stronger than any of the others having made it thus far, to try their hand at the dragon. We’re going to assist them. They have great power, but they need much more so as not to have worries in achieving success against the great dragon. Our archers are skilled – we have attributes these knights could use on their side.

“We can’t sit and wait for the dragon to find us before we fight. There are now allies on our side, in this moment of weakness and hopefully in any future ones as well. No longer will we sit in the forest and wait for it to burn down around us. We will save it and everyone in it.”

Adelaide’s voice was compelling, holding a power in it that did well in winning over the opinions of her fellow council members. Michael was pleased to see many nodding along with her every word, leaving very few skeptical faces surrounding the table. What pleased him more, though, was the widespread agreement that the elves should secure alliances with the men more permanently than merely their war with the dragon.

After a pause where elves whispered to whomever was sitting near them, their many eyes had shifted to where the four sat, as though merely gazing at them would give great insight into their characters. Wystan looked decidedly upset as the majority fell in support of Adelaide’s intentions.

“Tell us, explicitly, what we would gain from joining the side of man in this war?” an elf asked softly. Michael quickly found the voice belonged to someone with a young face and wide eyes. The danger of the dragon struck such fear into innocent hearts.

“Our safety, the preservation of the forest, support on the side of all the forest dwelling peoples and creatures who would owe to us their safety, allies on the side of man,” Adelaide said, her list brief but all encompassing. The elves could gain great power from accomplishing such a feat. Their superiority in the lands would remain unchallenged. “As of now, we are sitting in wait for disaster to strike. Bringing ourselves into the war rather than waiting for it to meet us will minimize the destruction and deaths that would have aroused regardless.”

“And you plan to secure treatise with man?” Wystan asked, soliciting after his fellow skeptics. Michael’s curiosities as to why Wystan was so vehemently opposed to such notions just grew after time.

“Men are not inherently bad, Wystan, as much as you’d like to believe. It’s been a long time coming that we would ally with men,” Adelaide said, patient as ever. “We could add security to all our futures.”

“And will we form such documents so freely with no discussions?”

“Of course not. When safety is brought upon the forest, we will speak with the council of men and the king and outline such agreements of trade and weaponry, but for now, these men are guests. The witch as well. The formalities of alliance will be established at a later date,” Adelaide said rather decidedly. She wouldn’t take any challenges on the matter, nor any dissent, though she hid such firm standings well.

“How will we accomplish such a feat?” the white haired elf asked. Adelaide opened her mouth to answer but was quickly cut off as the elf continued. “No, my lady, I want to hear what their thoughts on the matter are.”

Michael’s heart started in his chest, thrumming with a newfound and unpleasant energy. His insights would determine exactly how much support he would have, and he feared he would detract from all the progress they had made in such a short time by just opening his mouth. Michael smoothed his palms over the tops of his thighs, sitting up straighter in his chair before looking solely at the white haired elf.

“We must raise an army, firstly. I would never ask for a full sized army for there are undoubtedly women and children here, though I’ve not yet seen many, who need protection. Even a small group of well skilled fighters would greatly help in fending off the dragon. Preparation, discussions, and planning should follow. It needs to be a joint effort; we need to work as a team. Once we feel secured in our plans, knowing them in explicit detail enough, we make our way to the dragon’s lands.

“There is more to this than merely marching off and fighting – we need to communicate in such a way that we can play to one another’s abilities. Your armies are skilled with archery, yes? Distance can affront the dragon in a way our swords can’t, but we can’t best it solely from arrows. We need to combine our forces; we need to understand one another’s fighting style so we can devise ways through which we can support one another rather than hold back due to poor planning and hesitation.”

“You’re proposing we teach one another?” the elf asked, his interruption well placed. Michael never once turned away from the man, afraid his voice would falter should he glance at the others who were looking at him.

“Yes,” Michael said, nodding slightly. He took a breath before turning towards the rest of his audience. “Arrows can damage the vulnerable parts of a dragon – its eyes, mouth, nose – but its scales? We need heavier weaponry, swords, to even consider damaging more than just the exterior armor. Evart, Glyndwr, and I are the only ones trained in the art of swordsmanship, yet we haven’t half the skill your archers do. We can expand our comprehension of wielding such weapons by learning from one another.”

The elf who initially inquired after Michael’s opinion nodded before leaning back in his chair. “I think allies like these men would benefit us greatly.”

A few other voices offered their agreements on the matter before the room quieted down. Wystan held a frown, though, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he studied Michael. He seemed greatly displeased by the way the rest of the council handled their discussion.

“And if I’m to disagree?” Wystan asked, frown deepening when no on acknowledged his pessimism.

“May I ask a question?” Michael said, seeking Wystan to approve his request. Once he was given reluctant acceptance, Michael continued. “Why are you so opposed to all matters regarding us? Our assistance?”

“You are men, knights even. How are we – how am I – to trust you?”

“And you are elves,” Michael said, blatant but not unkind. He needed to cease the biased distrust. “I know that we’re different, which makes our agreements and integration of our ideas difficult at times, but why must you be so opposed? There are untrustworthy men, yet there are untrustworthy elves, too. Rather than resign yourself to the notion that all men are consumed by evils, have hope that you can gain support from us, from our king as well. Why do you think our lands are all struggling at the hands of the dragon? We’re all too keen on remaining divided that we are unable to accomplish any true successes. So many have lost their lives, their homes. We can’t let our world wither away over petty differences.”

Wystan stared at Michael, mouth slightly agape. He seemed at a loss for words, in consideration about what Michael had said, and Michael quietly regarded that as a positive accomplishment. Besides, he managed to cease the elf’s unwanted comments. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it quickly, expression growing slightly melancholy. Wystan looked at Michael for a moment longer before pushing himself up from his chair and towards the door. Everyone stared after his exit.

“Pardon him,” Adelaide said softly, primarily to Michael and his friends. “He’s not had the best of happenings across men, and fears for the future by placing trust within you four.”

“I can appreciate his fears,” Michael replied, looking at the door still.

Adelaide nodded then turned back to the group remaining around the table. “I think it’s settled, then. We’ll start our war preparations tomorrow.”

The council held what Michael presumed to be was their closing remarks before it adjourned, leaving Michael to walk back to his small house with the others and turn in for the evening. The walk was silent, per what was fast becoming the usual, despite the great numbers of things that needed to be discussed. Michael listened to the soft shifting of the rocks beneath his feet and the murmur of voices from above his head.

Michael knew that the decision was a great one, and they needed to talk about it together before they fully committed to working alongside the elves, but they wordlessly headed to their respective beds. Perhaps they could only handle so many heavy decisions in one day. Michael knew he already had his fair share; he was plenty world weary and far too exhausted.

Toeing off his boots and removing his still damp socks, Michael curled himself up on the cushion and beneath the many blankets he had. He felt too warm, the summer heat at its peak to make him feel immensely worse, yet he needed the weight of the blankets against his back. Michael brought his hands up to his hair and curled his fingers between the strands, head tipped towards his chest. He wanted to crumple under the weariness of it all, but he knew he couldn’t.

Adjusting, Michael tucked the blankets more smoothly around him and placed his head lightly on his pillow. The comfort of the bed felt odd after weeks of sleeping on the ground, leaving Michael uneasy. He knew the days of sleeping over rocks and dirt would return shortly, and he didn’t want to slip into the mindset that he would be spared from such discomfort. Michael didn’t want to lose himself in the protection of the elven lands and face the stark reality of a war. His mind was so torn with all of its thoughts, and Michael felt nearly reduced to tears. He just shut his eyes and let out the breath he was holding, willing sleep to cease his thoughts.

When he woke, it felt like just seconds after when he finally fell asleep, but the light filling the room told him otherwise. Michael curled in on himself and covered his head with a blanket, letting out a soft whine. If he was back home, Calum would have pushed him onto the cold and dirty floor to encourage him to wake up. He reminded himself that the faster he made his way through his days, the faster he would be back home, and threw off the blankets before laboriously pulling on his shoes again.

Michael quietly stepped outside, squinting against the light that hazily lit the clearing between the trees, and walked towards the home next to him where Medb was sleeping. He knocked softly on the door, relieved to see it open moments later – Michael didn’t want to wake her up should she have been resting still. Medb stepped out draped in a new dress, its ashen grey color bright as compared to the black she wore through their many days of walking. She appeared to take well to their proffered sleeping arrangements.

“You look dastardly,” Medb said once she fully opened the door, not one for euphemisms. “Like the life has been seeped from you and darkness has touched your soul.”

“Perhaps it has,” Michael smiled, smirking lightly at Medb. “I’m wickedly clever and I trekked this far to join the dragon’s side of course. I hold myself to being no less than the embodiment of evil.”

“Only the evilest of men admit to their love of the moon – only then do you know they’re not a force to be reckoned with,” Medb said in a hushed whispered, betraying her façade of secrecy. “Are we staging a mutiny, then?”

“Oh, of course. What else are we to do?” Michael said as Medb laughed at him. He was glad she was so rejuvenated by a full night’s rest, unlike himself. She was just as wearied by their journey.

“In serious matters, you look as though you’ve not slept in ages.”

“Well, it’s not far from the truth. At least my appearance is fitting the circumstances.” Michael shrugged at her apparent concern, knowing it would do little in reversing what was already done. Everything took its toll on him, and he couldn’t easily fall back into step with his past life. He was too well acquainted with the anticipation of danger surrounding him.

“Go sleep through the day,” Medb suggested, scoffing lightly at Michael’s indifference.

“I’ll sleep when I’m home,” Michael tried, laughing when Medb made a ridiculous face at him. “Well, it’s not like sleep is coming easily nowadays!”

“You’ll work yourself to death,” Medb said exasperatedly, voice lilting up into a whine. They both knew her cause was a lost one. “What’s heroism and bravery and strength when you work yourself so?”

“Idealities and stupidity, but I’ll do no such thing,” Michael said, though he lacked conviction enough to support his assertion. Medb sighed but didn’t argue against what Michael was saying – they were both, despite the opportunities for rest they were given, exhausted beyond any imaginable amount. “Have Evart and Glyndwr risen yet?”

“No, and they shouldn’t tarry much longer should we hold to our immediate action with the elves,” Medb said, leaning forward to glance beyond the doorframe and towards where Evart and Glyndwr’s small houses were. They remained looking just as untouched, so Medb leaned against the door and looked back to Michael. “Although, I believe I heard them conversing late last night. Perhaps they opted for sharing the same room?”

“I’ll never know with those two,” Michael said lightly, amused yet moderately worried by the change in their demeanors. “We ought to let them sleep for now since it’ll do no harm, and wake them once we’re approached by the elves. They need it now, since they won’t get much later.”

“And yet you won’t follow suit?” Medb said, eyebrow raised at Michael. Her stubbornness was commendable at times.

“Did you not hear them? I’m the leader, therefore I’m to set the example of punctuality,” Michael teased, voice tipping theatrically. “I just so happen to be disastrous at enforcing it.”

Medb scoffed at his ridiculousness then shoed him from the doorway, shutting it behind him before walking over to the fountain off in the center of the grouped houses. She sat on its ledge, legs stretched out straight in front of her, before patting the stone near him so as to offer him a spot. He walked up, shuffling forward a little and jumping towards Medb as if to push her into the pond before laughing and sitting next to her.

“You’re an ass,” Medb said, frowning at Michael.

“Oh, I know,” Michael laughed. It was certainly not the first time he’d teased and irked his friends, although he always sought out a positive ending to his ridiculousness. After a while, Medb smiled, and Michael knew his voice exacted what he intended it to.

They sat in silence for a while, watching their surroundings as the sun rose above the trees and elves walked about, footsteps as silent as the night. The passivity of the lands was easing, in its own quiet way. He never knew how grateful he would be for having to do absolutely nothing until the opportunity presented itself and he could just rest without the constant worry of having to leave at a moment’s notice.

Granted, such inactivity didn’t last long, and not long after Evart and Glyndwr crept from their respective houses, both frowning at the light interrupting their blissful sleepiness, giving the elves reason to come collect them all for a late breakfast.

The elven food was different than that of man, but Michael enjoyed it nevertheless, admiring its great worth with little effort. They made their meals from the forest and plants they grew rather than animals, which contrasted greatly to the hearty meals Michael had been given. He liked the lightness of his breakfast.

“Evart,” Michael whispered to his side in the middle of eating, though his soft voice was hardly necessary. “Should you ever become a cook, it’s necessary that you learn how to prepare food like the elves.”

Evart rolled his eyes before muttering, “Should I ever become a cook, then I shall.”

Michael smiled, hoping he appeared as greatly pleased as he felt, before continuing to eat from the vast amount of food he was given. When they and the elves finished their meal, the morning carried out similarly with hardly laborious activities. Michael and his friends took to socializing greatly with a number of the elves. Adelaide encouraged he familiarize himself with their soldiers and leaders he was likely to have alongside him in the war.

Michael appreciated the familiarity it gave him, for it eased a good portion of the concern blossoming from such an impromptu yet imperative alliance. Every elf he spoke with was equally skilled and intelligent, offering him new reassurances. Some informed him of how well the army worked together, others of their versatility in wielding weapons – despite being exceptionally well trained with a bow and arrow, the elves were given basic training in how to use a blade. Michael knew that they would all try their utmost to win the battle.

However, Michael didn’t fancy spending much more time on such fleeting relations. As much as he needed to be well acquainted with whom he would battle with, he knew that friendships could be established after the battle was won. Michael feared his ability to fight was dwindling the longer the battle was postponed. He knew that afterwards there would be many separate journeys into the forest for discussions about their alliance through which he could further his relationships with the elves he’d taken a liking to, but until then, Michael just sought to expedite his days.

After the sun began dipping down back towards the tree tops, brushing them with a golden color, and the heat’s edge slowly dulled, Adelaide approached Michael when he was conversing with a number of elves. She greeted them all in turn then asked to speak to Michael momentarily, leading him off under the shade of the trees to speak. Michael hoped their conversation would bring them to events more productive than what he had experienced that day.

“How great of a knight are you?” Adelaide asked, eyes flickering between Michaels’s face that the many elves still occupying themselves in the open fields Michael had been standing in earlier. He silently wondered about her desire for privacy.

“I’m not a knight,” Michael answered simply, tired of frequent admissions to his peasantry status in their social hierarchy. He ought not have paraded himself around under the assumption of a knight earlier.

“No?” Adelaide said, surprised but not accosted by the news. She seemed so open to understanding things rather than bending them to her wishes. “Why would the king send someone without noble blood in their veins to lead two knights into such a disastrous battle as this?”

“The nobles have corruption – they aren’t as eager to fight when they have many things to lose, though their greediness prompts them to volunteer for the sake of monetary rewards and esteem. But I’m a peasant; I’ve already lost everything and have nothing to lose should I die,” Michael explained, voice slow as he reasoned through the question himself. It wasn’t untrue, necessarily, although the motive for Michael taking on such a task had since changed.

“You must hold abilities greater than that of any other peasant, then,” Adelaide said, working out the logic out loud to herself. “Which leads me back to, how is your swordsmanship?”

“It must be well enough for Lu– sorry, the king to prefer me to venture out here,” Michael said with mild humor, relieved when Adelaide’s expression mirrored his own.

“How did he determine that, exactly?”

“I dueled him twice,” Michael said with a shrug, taking to it with no great interest. His first duel with Luke resulted in a cut along his cheekbone and the second an awful bruise. They were what caused his relationship with Luke to grow, but paled in comparison to many other things Michael had experienced with Luke. Adelaide’s expression, however, suggested that dueling the king was of a greater importance than he held it to.

“You openly dueled the king? How did you fare?”

“I bested him in the end, but left with injuries at the end of each,” Michael said, frowning distastefully at their memory. Adelaide just stared in wonder at Michael for a moment, unsure of how to take the news. While he waited for Adelaide to speak, Michael brought his hands around to his back and leant against a tree, the bark rough on his palms.

“You spoke of advancing the elves’ training in wielding swords, of establishing an understanding between the two disciplines so as to optimize both sides in the battle. Would you be willing to teach us, teach the armies?” Adelaide asked, sounding less like the leader of the elves in that moment and more like someone young and desperate for help.

“I can try,” Michael managed to choke out, more than taken aback by the request. He was unsure of even where to begin about teaching an entire army swordsmanship, but he was willing to try, for all their sakes.

Michael looked off at the great number of elves with bows while their quivers were fastened tightly across their backs, laughing and joking around in the evening light. They were all so graceful and delicate in their movements, even when they were teasing and employing theatrics in their conversations. Transitioning such elegance over to the brutality and rigidity of swordsmanship would be difficult, but Michael thought the effect would be more than worthwhile.

His days dissolved into preparation for war, albeit an ideally brief one. Michael was pulled from conversations regarding the tactics of both ambushing and fending off a dragon to his thoughts on the medicinal supplies brought along to directly training the elves and Medb in swordsmanship. His heart fell back to home and his mind raced ahead to the battle, and what with being so busy and mentally torn, Michael felt exceptionally pieced apart.

All the while, Michael watched how the armies were growing adequate in their wilding of a sword. Their stances were better than even Evart and Glyndwr’s, movements lithe yet strong. Their drive in offensive maneuvers was lacking, but Michael was more than satisfied with how they had grown in such short time. He knew they would be able to both fight from a distance and take to trying their hand at piercing beneath the great dragon’s scales.

The elves who weren’t accompanying them on the fight were preparing supplies. Arrows were being made in large numbers, everyone’s armor was laid out in preparation for their departure, and rations were being disseminated into everyone’s bags. Michael was grateful for his own portion of elven food, taking a liking to how it was light yet filling. The preparations were being finalized, and the date on which they would leave for war was approaching ever faster.

Upon seeing the sheer size and strength of the soldiers to march behind him, Michael felt a newfound confidence push away the looming concern sinking within him. The great dragon had taken armies before, even the king’s own, but never once did it fell one as well trained as the elves’.

Nothing, however, could distract him from the notion that a lot rested on his shoulders. Adelaide made Michael even more keenly aware of the knowledge that there was a general assumption amongst the soldiers that he would be the one to ultimately slay the great dragon. While Michael assumed that himself, the notion of everyone marching behind him believing he would be the way to pierce the dragon’s heart weighed heavily on him.

“As much as the armies can and will injure him, we all know you’re the one who will succeed in ceasing the dragon’s reign of terror, Michael,” Adelaide told him one evening, when the moon was bright and haloed in the clouds. It was the last true night in which Michael didn’t have increasing fears about the day he would leave. “You will succeed. I hope you’re aware of that.”

Adelaide must have noticed his self-pitying look and offered her own silent sentiments of sorrow. Having Adelaide, Luke, Calum and Ashton, his friends, his army, all placing their confidence in him, Michael almost believed that he would succeed. His worries and tremors in his chest told him otherwise. Michael was so torn in his mind, as of late, and it wore down on his attempts at defending himself.

After a moment, Adelaide asked Michael to follow her, leading him through the moonlit knight towards the arc of the white stone buildings. He stumbled over the dark ground, wondering which of the smaller buildings she was heading towards. All the while, Adelaide spoke of how she had prepared a parting gift for him. Michael, though grateful of even the mention of a gift, was unsure as to how a gift was supposed to counteract every ounce of worry stowing away in his veins.

They entered through the single door and into a poorly lit room which Michael soon discovered to be the elves’ armory. Instead of seeing seemingly endless rows of bows and collections of arrows, though, Michael found bare walls with small hooks filling them. In the center of the room, great sized stone blocks rose unevenly towards the ceiling. Upon each new smooth platform of stone sat metallic weapons, set as though they were untouchable and on display. Adelaide took the single longsword from the other displays and handed it carefully to Michael.

“There’s magic coursing through this blade, and I think it will be helpful when the time comes for you to use it,” Adelaide said softly, looking down at the sword.

Its blade was silver with thin veins of gold spiraling around the handle until it ran in two single lines to the tip, reflecting the torchlight of the room. Michael thought the blade was beautiful, and upon holding it, he discovered it was very well made. It rested well in his hand, its balance greater than the estoc Luke had given him those many weeks before, and he could feel the thrum of power emanating from the blade itself. He had no doubts that there was strength and power in the weapon, far greater than anything he embodied.

Michael didn’t like the finality brought with the gift, though, being equipped for the battle that he was to leave for in a matter of days. He knew the armies were more than prepared, Glyndwr, Evart, and Medb all well rested for the battle, and yet Michael felt too unprepared – everyone was crucial to their success, himself included as much as he loathed to admit, and he wasn’t sure how he would fare when he was finally there before the dragon.

Despite the panic filling his chest, Michael maintained his façade of calm though, quietly thanking Adelaide for the sword before returning to his house to rest for the night. As the days quieted down to ease them into their departure, Michael’s frights increased greatly. He would have given away most everything for Luke’s reassuring embraces and whispered words. All he had was an empty bed and halfhearted wishes of good luck.

The eve of his departure was what finally pushed Michael to the apex of his fear – any hopes of turning back were erased. An army of men were relying heavily on him, as well as the fate of many lands of innocent life, and yet Michael was watching his candle slowly burn away to protect himself from the overwhelming fear of facing the next day. Michael wanted to hug his pillow to his chest and fall apart in the quiet of his room, but Michael didn’t know if he could pick himself up again before morning came.

He sighed heavily, knitting his eyebrows as he tried to hold himself together, before carefully shifting on the mattress so his head was nearer to the dying candle. With shaking hands, Michael unfolded wrinkled paper under the light. The creases where it was folded had long since worn thin, the parchment stained from the rain, dirt, and Michael’s hands always absentmindedly looking to ensure its safety. Luckily, when the envelope was opened, the looping ink of Luke’s letter remained intact. Michael could feel his heart speed its pace in his chest as he leaned towards the parchment to see the words.

“ _Dear Michael,”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading, commenting, etc. so far because it's really encouraging to see that my story is up past 1.6k views! I love you all very much!
> 
> As for notes, a [clerestory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clerestory) roof is one with windows all along it. I named the elves after two of my favorite poets, [Adelaide Crapsey](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adelaide_Crapsey) and [W. H. Auden](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._H._Auden). The war preparations were low key inspired by [Band of Brothers](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0185906/), which is why it took me a lot longer to put out this chapter.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and the like are always appreciated!
> 
> If you want to come hang out on [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com) then feel free! You can always ask me when I'm going to finally put out a new chapter. Thanks lovelies!


	10. the ashes learn to fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _tell my loved ones that i wish them well_  
>  -[November by Sleeping With Sirens](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwzBiFBR0v0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor violence and blood. If you're uncomfortable with these, please message me on [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com) off of anon, and I can let you know what happened.

_Dear Michael,_

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry that after everything that you’ve been through in your life, after pushing through every single day just praying to make it to the next, you’ve walked into another hardship. I’m sorry I pushed you into that. Your life is rough on you, and through that you’ve been sculpted into who you are right now; your marble has been chipped away at by life’s rough edge, and even still, you’re more beautiful than ever before. I’m sorry that pieces of you are slowly leaving. You’ve always been beautiful though, Michael, and you’ll always be beautiful. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged through dirt, flames, and ruination alike. Instead of ceasing the undue sufferings you’ve experienced, I’ve merely sent you through more._

_How is it fair? How is any of it fair? You’ve been a hero since you were a child. You saved yourself, saved Calum, picked yourself up off the sooty ground and stood tall. You’ve instilled hope into Calum and now countless others. Then you offered to save the entirety of these lands, and I didn’t tell you that your days as a hero were over. I know you volunteered, but how is it fair? You should have set down your sword that day when you came to the castle. You fought well for seemingly lost causes and succeeded, and your burdens have since been eased from your shoulders._

_Yet that’s not what happened. You’re off in distant lands where I’ve no notion of where to find you, having faced a number of new hardships, reading a letter for reasons I can’t begin to fathom. Once I finally muster the courage to present this letter to you, I’m going to tell you that I wrote it so as not to let you give up on yourself._

_You’re not here, Mikey, you’re not because I sent you away, and that means I can only offer encouragement from afar. Somewhere in my heart I hope you never open the envelope, that you never give up on yourself. I hope your morale stays as firmly placed as it was the day you volunteered, but if you do break the seal of the envelope then that means your morale did not stay intact._

_I can’t bring you home and wrap you in my arms. See, Michael, I’ve lied. I can’t protect you that way. I’m afraid, so terribly afraid, not of death but of failure. I couldn’t stand knowing that after everything that’s happened, I’ve not saved anyone. I don’t want to fail anyone. I’m afraid of disappointing people, of letting my mistakes cause the downfall of countless and innocent others. I can’t hold you in my arms and tell you it’s safe because I can’t make that a reality. I’m don’t want to fail you._

_You’re afraid too. I know you are. But you’re strong. Men can build empires from rubble, can present feasts after having only a handful of seeds, can arouse happiness in times of war. Never mind your rubble, your meager seeds, your despair. Those created you. Now it’s your turn to grow. You’re a strong man, and if nothing else, I’m here to ensure you believe that._

_I’ve been in your shoes, but you fill them better. Despite the quests I’ve been on, your success will be insurmountable. If the knowledge that you’re making your march doesn’t cause fear to settle within the dragon’s bones, then nothing will. I can’t revert the decision that has long been made, I can’t come find you and carry you home, I– I can’t. Lord knows I’d like to. But I’ll do whatever I can to make you realize how capable you are. I’ll help you believe you’re a hero._

_I know you’re frightened because you have hardly an idea as to where you are and feel ill prepared. Everything will feel foreign and untouchable, but I assure you, that’s not the case. When I went on my first quest, I was afraid that I would cause more harm than good. Michael, these lands are so far gone. Your touch spreads beauty, causes flowers to blossom, encourages birds to sing. Your soul spreads light to what otherwise would be darkness. You are already bringing so much good into this forest. You need not be frightened of causing ruination – you can do no such thing. Your gentle heart does so much good._

_I ought to let you in on a small secret. You need only try, love. Yes, the great dragon reigns terror upon a great many people, but by counteracting his offence, you are already bringing so much good into the lands. The forest will find support in you, the creatures and peoples seeing hope in their darkness. You’re giving the forest what it hasn’t had in far too long of time – hope._

_Did you see the people in the city? Did you see how utterly happy they appeared just upon hearing the news of your quest? The townsfolk were elated, not only because they had faith that you succeed, but because you gave them encouragement that they too could achieve great things. You’re a great man who has built up beauty having started with nothing, and little is more beautiful than a beacon of light raised in the darkness. Your drive to save people – to assist them in saving themselves – leads the others to think that they can help as well._

_Did you not see the children racing through the streets, fighting off their hunger as they played out their theatric stories? Young boys ran with their arms spread, outstretched like the wings of a dragon, while their roars were interrupted by their own giggles. Did you watch as young girls chased after them, arms raised as they brandished their imaginary swords? I saw. I saw as mothers looked on with smiles because their children were happy, Michael. Families with nothing suddenly had hope. Children had something to live for, their life to fight for. Parents knew their children would be okay._

_The kingdom feels encouraged because you were brave enough to step beyond what was expected of you, to place yourself amidst ranks of other men and appear the strongest. Michael, you showed them that anyone can slay a dragon, can save the innocent, can do something so simple as try to save family. You’re the extraordinary in our superficial world. You embody a heroism and sense of love the townsfolk have long since been deprived of._

_I know you want to succeed. You want to walk through the gates of the kingdom and let the worries upon everyone’s face slide away into peace. You have the ability in you. I know you do. But they won’t be disappointed if the great dragon was unable to be bested by a select few people. I won’t be upset; I’ll be proud that you accomplished so much along the way – that you tried. Calum won’t be disappointed in you, either, Michael._

_Calum believes in you. Arguably, Calum believes in you the most. Calum has been by your side since the beginning, and he’ll be there until the end. He was in the first sentence of your story; he’ll be in the last one, too. Cover to cover, love. Your stories are entwined; don’t doubt that will ever change. Everything you did, volunteering to fight, actually stepping beyond the kingdom’s boundaries – everything – was for Calum. It was and it still is. You saved his life, Michael. Even if you return empty handed, Calum will still be the first to rush into your arms. Don’t worry over proving yourself or disappointing others because they will be astounded already by your willingness to take on such a task._

_That being said, your battle with the great dragon is likely still imminent. Let your mind be free from the burden of your thoughts. You are a skilled fighter; I can certainly attest to that. Don’t let your mind distract you, sweetheart; you know how to fight, you know how to win – focus on that instead. The future is ahead of you, and the past is behind you. Please don’t let turning in circles distract you from right now. You’re in a different part of your life right now, but everything else is awaiting your return. Focus on staying safe and protecting yourself against everything that could be surrounding you. Please come home._

_I have a confession to make. I’m worried too._

_I heard you one night, walking past the doorway that led to Ashton’s room. You were sitting on the edge of Ashton’s bed, speaking softly with Calum. When I stepped past the barely open door, I heard you whisper that you were afraid. You said you were afraid you wouldn’t succeed, that you wouldn’t come home, and that you wouldn’t be able to experience what love was – what love was with me._

_Here’s the truth, dear, the honest to god truth. What is love if it’s not with you? The world is desolate, but with you, it’s golden. Never mind the darkness that frightens me when I’ve your light to banish it away. I barely had a taste of love, but it was ambrosia. I’m afraid that eternity will slip from our grasp._

_I remember when I first saw you, the man so covered in soot you were the grey in the expanse of rich colors. And lord, were you beautiful. After a life of being surrounded by façades, I found someone whose soft eyes weren’t the painted expression of a mask. You were pure of heart. Even from that very first day, I knew how pure of heart you were. There was a single light burning in that crowd of empty shells. You were so gentle, and it broke my heart._

_I was going to send a good man off to war._

_You’re a good man. You won’t turn to rage or greed. You have the dedication and drive to save these lands, not merely yourself or your fortune. Determination courses through your veins. I can tell. No man ever spoke of others when I asked them what they were fighting for. You didn’t speak of reward, of pride, of being best fit to fight. You spoke of saving people, of ending the terror._

_I’ve sent a good man off to war, and I’m terrified he won’t come back._

_From those first days I knew you, I could feel the ache in my heart. I started missing you. There’s something novel in feeling the longing after someone who’s not yet gone. The looming cloud of knowledge that you would soon be gone hurt me. And lord, I know you’re doing good, but my selfish heart doesn’t want you to leave._

_At the time I was sending someone filled with light off into darkness. Your good heart would gain the scars of war, and you would banish the evil that sits over these lands like a fog. Your pieces would help build up these lands from their ruins. Now, though. Now I’ve sent someone I love off to war._

_Do you know what loving you is like? Do you know how utterly beautiful it is? Never before have I felt such warmth in my heart, such happiness. It’s like hope has finally nestled itself in my chest, and I could weep because it feels so lovely. You’re lovely, Michael._

_Loving you is like looking at art. Loving you is like listening to music. You are art. You’re every song my ears long to hear. You’re beautiful and strong and filled with a story deeper than what appears on the surface. I know that you’ll etch your story deeper into the tablet, spread your paint across every wall. You’re the building melodies that rival birdsongs. You are art, my dear, and the story you tell will not end here. You’re the beautifully tragic man who perseveres through the strain of life._

_I would memorialize you in sculpture, tapestry, and painting alike, through stories, poems, and songs, yet those would hardly compare to how beautiful your soul is. How could one capture you in the entirety of your beauty. Please come home safely. The world needs such beauty in it. It needs you._

_I need you._

_I know you’re afraid – you’re allowed to be afraid – but I also know you’re strong. Let your mind be at ease because you needn’t be distracted by the strains of thoughts. Don’t be a burden to yourself. There is no one better fit to be our hero. My hero. And I can assure you, you are certainly a hero._

_I won’t say goodbye because this isn’t the end of our story, my love. It’s still only the beginning of our story, but I know the end will be all it’s amounted to be. I miss you dearly, but I know I’ll see you soon. Until then, I love you more than the stars love the moon._

_-Luke_

___

Michael awoke with tears streaked across his face and parchment crumpled lightly in his hand. The cushion felt uncomfortable beneath his back, and his head ached terribly. Everything felt distorted and awry for a short moment, and Michael wasn’t certain it would ever return to how it was supposed to be. Michael pressed the parchment to his chest and curled in on himself. Everything hurt more than it ever did before.

It was a pain that settled deep beneath the surface like a bruise, aching without ever being touched. Except it resonated through his bones and extended to his extremities, his entire body thrumming with a newfound pain. Michael wanted to let the agony consume him so that he wouldn’t have to suffer any longer than he already had. But he also wanted to push through it so he would finally feel free and unburdened.

Michael’s fingers curled tighter around Luke’s letter, the paper crinkling softly in the silent room. Luke’s letter. It simultaneously gave Michael determination that he could succeed because so many people believed in his abilities when he didn’t, which more than made up for his lacking confidence, yet if he failed, his losses increased tenfold. He was still the poor lost soul in their world on fire, and he didn’t want to see it fade into ash.

When Michael thought of love, he imagined looking at the starlit sky and vases of flowers as the centerpiece for every meal, he thought of stolen kisses and ceaseless smiles. Michael thought of the embodiment of happiness in its purest form. His love was the sound of swords against plate armor and boots against the earth. It was watching the ground becoming increasingly covered with soot as the air smelled of fire. Michael’s love was brash and harsh, and he wished for it to dissolve into the sweetness of the stars.

But it didn’t, not just yet, and Michael still had to pull himself from bed, from the safety of the elven lands. He still rode his horse through the thick expanse of trees amidst the vast number of others. The finality of riding off towards the great dragon’s lands brought a sense of closure that Michael felt safe in. Regardless of what happened, either good or bad, it was the end, and Michael was ready for that chapter to reach its close.

His thoughts strayed to Luke throughout the entirety of their ride, even as the trees faded into jagged and rocky lands, and sounds like thunder echoed through the sky. Michael mindlessly watched hooves struggle across the rocks and soot pass in front of his face in the lackluster breeze. Meanwhile, he was trying to commit Luke’s face – every single freckle, the way he smiled, the shade of his eyes, every expression, everything – to memory before he had the chance to forget. Even if everything else faded for Michael, he didn’t want Luke to fade as well.

After a short time, Michael noticed that the trees of the forest grew small in the distance, and great black rocks rose up towards the cloudy sky. The land appeared as though it was scarred, scratched at and burned until there was hardly anything left. It was desolate, and it brought a sadness to Michael’s heart. There was a difference between hearing about the destruction of life and witnessing it firsthand. It was sad to see life fade away and colors dull into grey.

He followed the elven leaders for a while, falling to the back of the group because he trusted their knowledge and judgement about warfare far more than his own. The elven leaders slowly circled the mountain at a distance, clinging to the outer edge where the ground was flat and shorter rock outcrops offered protection. In the most secure of the clearings, where rough stone shielded them from the mountain the most yet still offered decent visibility, the elves stopped. They dropped from their horses and spread out the supplies they brought as if to set up a makeshift camp. Michael hoped they wouldn’t need to stay long enough for tents to be of use.

Michael watched a moment before circling around the back of the army until he found Medb kneeling on the rough ground, quietly rifling through her bag while the staff was placed between her feet. Slowing Gerard to a halt, Michael slid to the ground and walked him over nearer to Medb. Once he was next to her, Medb stood from the ground, a long strip of plum colored fabric in her hand. She turned to Michael, expression grim as she tied the fabric around her waist.

“This is it,” Medb whispered, fingers playing with the frayed ends of the sash. She sniffed a bit, looking down, before crossing her arms tightly over her chest and turning her attention back to Michael. “I never really thought I would be here.”

“Are you glad you are here?” Michael asked, his voice equally soft; he wasn’t certain he wanted an answer, but Medb nodded regardless. His eyes then fell to the frayed fabric. “Why do you have a sash?”

“Ah, violet is the color of spirituality, and it ties to the mind. If I’m to be employing the use of a great amount of magic, I’ll need as much assistance as I can possibly find,” Medb said while she sought to read his expression. After a moment, she tore a long finger width strip of fabric from her sash and took Michael’s hand, tying it carefully around his wrist beneath his chainmail. “For your mind.”

“Thank you,” Michael said, resting his other hand over the fabric. Michael would take every ounce of strength he was offered, even if it was fabric around his wrist.

“Are you ready?” Medb asked softly after a moment, whispered like a secret she wasn’t allowed to share.

“I have to be,” Michael replied, glancing back towards the mountain of black stone rising up in front of him as another thunderous sound shook the air. “We’re sitting in wait for the great dragon to appear, and we’ve no notion as to whether he is here and waiting to strike or off in other lands. We can’t be taken unawares.”

Medb nodded then sunk to the ground, feet tucked up under her dress. She moved her staff to her side then reached out to lightly pat the rock beside her, indicating that Michael should sit as well. Once he did, she spoke, voice more hushed than before. “I don’t know what’s to happen once we do find the dragon, Michael.”

“We fight, but we fight together. You’re clever, so you’ll know what’s best once the battle begins. All you need to do is weaken him,” Michael explained, voice calm to ease Medb. He was more than well acquainted with worrying, and he didn’t wish that burden upon anyone.

“How can you put it so simply?” Are you not afraid?” Medb asked, tears giving a shine to her eyes. “I asked for this. I asked to be here, but, Michael, what if it doesn’t work out? What then?”

“Then we keep fighting, and we keep fighting until we win or we can’t fight any longer, but the latter won’t happen because we’re strong. I believe in us.” Michael paused a moment, hesitating as to whether he should continue or not. “I _am_ scared, if I’m being honest, but I have things to fight for. You have things to fight for as well. We have reason to succeed.”

“You have your moon,” Medb said with a soft laugh and a smile. She was another soul Michael hoped would be spared at the end of it all. Hers was already too wounded by the great dragon’s destruction; it didn’t need any more injury.

“And you have the forest,” Michael said, expression insistent. “Innocence will be spared and we’re the ones to accomplish that. There is nothing more and nothing less right now. Don’t cloud your mind with unnecessary worries. I promise, it’s only going to serve as a distraction.”

“You ought to take your own advice,” Medb said with a small smirk, pushing herself up from the ground. “Come, let us find the two lovebirds.”

“Whom?” Michael asked, standing up regardless of whatever answer Medb was going to give. His legs felt stiff like a chill had settled in them, though winter had not yet come. Michael hoped he would not still be lost in foreign lands once snow made its first appearance.

“Evart and Glyndwr. I haven’t seen them in a long while.” Medb shouldered her bag and started walking forward, turning after a moment to look pointedly at Michael. “Coming?”

Michael rolled his eyes at Medb’s nickname for Evart and Glyndwr but nodded, mounting Gerard before slowly meandering through the ranks of elves in search of the two knights. Not shortly after, hardly scanning half of the many people who filled the area, Michael saw navy blue amidst the vast amounts of gold and silver the elves wore. He encouraged Gerard to walk a touch faster, leading Medb towards their friends.

When Michael reached them and dismounted his horse, the sound of his boots landing to the ground caused Glyndwr and Evart to look up, relief washing away lines of worry from their faces. They appeared to be so utterly happy at seeing him and Medb. Michael felt a genuine smile cross his face for the first time in far too long.

“Michael,” Glyndwr sighed, voice thick and deep, pushing himself from the ground to wrap his arms around Michael. The two laughed at the sound of their plate armor colliding. After a moment he stepped away, his gloved hand patting Michael’s shoulder. “This is it.”

“This is it,” Evart echoed slowly, face filled with poorly masked fright. He exhaled quietly before setting his shoulders and standing taller. Evart was the one who had stayed most confident throughout the entirety of their journey, and Michael was glad to see he didn’t allow himself to falter yet. “We’ll be fine, though. We will.”

“That’s the spirit, Ev,” Michael said. He hoped the cheerfulness in his voice wasn’t noticeably forced as he patted Evart’s shoulder in the same manner as what Glyndwr did moments before. Michael, unlike Evart, had wavering confidence since before he left. “You’ll blink and suddenly we’ll be on our way home. We’re so close to the end.”

Michael tried to ignore how extreme his lies were, how they said what was completely opposite from the truth he knew. Wars were not brief, as much as they all would like to believe otherwise. Wars were not simple and straightforward. Wars were harsh and unfair. They depended upon impulses and superficialities and luck. Michael knew that skill alone wouldn’t bring them to success – one wrong move could be the end of their fight.

Michael tried to ignore how greatly his friends believed in his every word. They looked so put at ease by his suggestion of brevity. Never mind however long it would take them to find the great dragon; they still had to best a fearsome beast that had reigned over them for many years. Michael wanted to believe in his words as well, but he couldn’t. War was long and indefinite, so filled with a pain that tore people apart. War wasn’t something one could walk away from and feel unscathed. Hardships were fast approaching, and there was no escaping them – damage was to be done and prices were to be paid.

Most of all, though, Michael tried to ignore the way his hands were shaking. No amount of movement, no matter the times he clasped his hands together, the tremors ran beneath his skin. And when his hands weren’t shaking it was his legs, his voice, his heart in his chest. Michael couldn’t ignore that. He was terrified.

“Excuse me,” a small voice said, interrupting Michael’s erratic attempts at stilling his trembling fingers.

Michael looked up to see a young elf, face still innocent and rounded, eyes a touch too big for his face. An elf with long braided hair stood next to him, a few years older. Michael saw two children at the edge of war, and he wished he could change that. “Yes?”

“The elven leaders want to speak to you. They’re wondering if you’d like to make a speech,” the boy said quietly, a blush covering his cheeks.

“Pardon me?” Michael said rather abruptly. What could he possibly say when he needed a motivational speech for his own morale? Michael only felt marginally reassured when Luke, who knew him fairly well, presented him with a letter. How could Michael give the army anything of worth?

“A speech. They think you can help,” the older child said, her face growing pallid.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” the girl said, voice stronger. She looked up at Michael, eyes almost pleading. “They’re waiting on the other side of the army. You can see them standing just over there.”

After the girl pointed towards a group of people, he disappeared into the crowd of others before Michael had the opportunity to say anything else. Michael stared at everyone sat slouched on the jagged ground, staring at their hands in their laps or holding hushed conversations. Everything seemed so much more grey in the dragon’s lands.

Michael turned towards Glyndwr, Medb, and Evart, contorting his face for a bit before sighing. “Should I give a speech? Would it be worth it?”

“I think we all need it,” Evart said as he looked from Medb to Glyndwr then back to Michael. “All of us.”

Michael nodded, muttering agreements more for his own sake, before shaking out his arms a bit and taking Gerard’s reins. He quickly rode to the other side of the army to where the elves were standing. Their faces were only partially familiar to Michael except for Wystan, who offered to join their fight. Adelaide had remained to protect the elven lands.

“Are you going to make a speech?” Wystan asked as Michael dismounted his horse, voice lacking energy. He had been subdued since his last outburst during the council meeting, which Michael was very grateful for.

“Why me?” Michael asked in return, not defensive, per se, but he didn’t understand why they wanted a speech from him, of all people. He pulled his arms over his stomach, the chainmail scraping over the plate armor.

“You’re the best fit. I’m no good at reassuring them, and we both know that. You’ll know what to tell them because you’re a good man with a good heart who has something to fight for. There are men like you out there, men who have reason to fight. You are the same as everyone in this army. I am not one of them,” Wystan said, and of everything that could have gone wrong once they reached the dragon’s lands, Michael could rest easy knowing whatever was torn between himself and Wystan was fixed.

“Alright, I’ll give a speech,” Michael said, puffing his cheeks as he exhaled. “You’re a good man, Wystan, just so you know. You’re good, you just might not have discovered that yet.”

Wystan nodded at him as Michael rode Gerard to the front of the army, the added height allowing for everyone to see him, while the elven leaders called for everyone’s attention. With all eyes on him, Michael felt like crumbling away, but he didn’t. He knew how much reassurance about success he needed to just step away from Luke. His army deserved the same.

“This is it,” Michael started like when he spoke with his friends, voice shaking. He could see all those sitting far from him leaning forward to hear, so he wrung his hands and resolved to speak louder. “After everything, after watching the world fall to pieces around us, after wishing for so long it would right itself, after finally deciding to fight, we’re here. We’re waiting for the final battle.”

Michael guided Gerard sideways slightly, pacing slowly in front of everyone. They looked up with expectant faces, so hopeful that Michael could say exactly what they wanted to hear. For their sake, Michael wished he could as well. After seeing so many people taking his every word to heart, Michael grew confidence in what he was saying.

“We’re at war, and that won’t be like what you see in stories. War has heroism, yes, but it also has tragedy. I don’t want anyone to fall victim to that. We need to support one another to ensure that doesn’t happen, and if you genuinely don’t wish to fight, you don’t have to. Please, those who are afraid of what might happen, go home. They need you as well, I assure you.

“Luke, my king, gave me that offer before I left because I tried as much as I could to fight, and he wouldn’t take offense if I ultimately decided I couldn’t. It is better to have a knight who is willing to fight than someone who’s afraid. My decision was to keep trying.

“Everyone here, you’ve all tried, which is more than any of us could have asked for. Please, don’t stay here with the notion that you’re required to remain. We can always return to fight another day, but knights distracted by fear might not. It is important we best the great dragon, but everyone here is more important. Go home. No one will think any less of you – we shall admire your bravery for walking this far.

“As for those who intend to fight,” Michael said, tone more commanding than before as he turned to ride to the other side. “You are strong. You are all strong, and there is no doubt in any of our minds over that. You might think you’re weak, but whomever is sitting next to you, behind you, even a dozen paces from you, thinks you’re the strong one. Even those at home and those leaving for home, they all believe you are able to win this war.

“We few are a good army made from knights who fight exceptionally well. All we need to do to succeed is to fight as one, for we can’t best a single enemy with sporadic fighters. We know how to fight, how to overcome the great dragon, we know how to win. We just have to believe in that.

“After such a great time of worrying over failure, I finally believe in us. My friends believe in us. Each and every single one who sits here today, everyone at home, everyone, they all believe in us. It’s time to believe in yourselves too.

“No longer are we going to let the great dragon reign its destruction upon these lands. We’re going to keep more innocent lives from being taken and bring light back into this dark world. We’re going to take back our lands together.

“This is your story, your heroic chapter. It will be a story that is told without cease. You’re the heroes, the knights, the ones who save these lands. You’re all heroes.”

Michael rode back to the center of the group, standing tall in front of the army. He finally saw a small amount of hope on their faces as opposed to the pale fear from earlier. As he opened his mouth to finish his speech, a thunderous sound ran like a tremor through the sky, spooking the soldiers and horses alike. Most of the army stood at the sound, some with haphazardly raised weapons while others went to tend to the horses. Michael looked up but saw nothing but clouds in the sky.

“It appears the battle is nigh, but we, we are in control of this fight. Together we will save our lands, our peoples, our friends and family. Together we will win,” Michael concluded hastily, turning his head as Gerard stepped in messy circles in fright. Michael reached forward to soothe him.

The army let out a shout of agreement that was quickly silence by the leaders; if the great dragon was truly near, he needn’t hear them. Afterwards, with the realization that their enemy could be the origin of such a sound, the army broke apart into groups, all doing different tasks.

Michael rode Gerard around the area, guiding all those who wished to return to the elven lands to safety. He helped the small group of people away from the rocky lands and towards the forest, eyes frequently watching the sky than what was happening around him. Michael gave them rushed directions back to the elven lands, having some confidence that they would know the way better. Afterwards, they ran into the trees, and Michael didn’t turn around until he saw Wystan and the young child who gave him the news about a speech disappear into the trees with the others.

Once Michael returned, he saw Medb retying the sash around her waist, a collection of runes half scratched into the ground, while Evart was tightening Glyndwr’s armor. By the time he stepped to the ground, Medb was drawing the end of her staff across the stones, deepening the harshly drawn runes.

“It’s protection,” Medb said, not looking up as she stepped around Michael to continue her lines. “They will weaken the magic of the dragon. I won’t fully complete it until the dragon is within our sights. The completion of the runes will impact him most, so it’s best if the great dragon is nearer.”

“What if–”

“It won’t hurt anyone except the great dragon,” Medb said, glancing at Michael with a small smile, answering his question before he could even voice it. “The horses should pass unaffected as well.”

“We’re just sitting in wait at this point,” Michael said, running his fingers through his hair as he began pacing. He felt increasingly ill and would almost rather the great dragon appear immediately than let them remain waiting for his arrival.

“We’re ready,” Glyndwr said, reaching out to stop Michael’s movement. “We’re ready and you said so yourself. We’re sitting in wait to win.”

“Once we’re back,” Michael began, pointing sternly at Glyndwr. “Once we’re back, you can have as much of Luke’s wine as you very well please. It doesn’t matter if he or Evart advice against it. I’m well acquainted with sneaking into the kitchen, and I will give you wine.”

“Oh, you spoil me,” Glyndwr said with a laugh heartier than any Michael had heard for the previous weeks. He took Michael and Evart’s hands, wrapping them with his own, then gestured for Medb to lay her hand on top. “For success and good wine.”

Michael laughed but shook his hands with the others’. Before Michael dropped his hand back to his side, another sound like thunder shook the sky, this time accompanied with white light illuminating the grey clouds. A few moments later, a louder noise sounded, causing Michael to startle. The great dragon was nearby, waging its own war with the sky.

“It’s going to pour rain,” Evart whispered, looking up towards where the clouds were deepening in shade. Lightning tinted them white, frequently illuminating their dimming lands. “Of course it would choose to rain now, of all times.”

“We’ll manage. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise. We can fight fire with water, can we not?” Michael reasoned, trying to spin the notion into something positive. Michael felt some of the tension in his body ease when Evart visibly relaxed.

“Yes. Yes, perhaps rain won’t be completely a nuisance,” Evart said, nodding for an unnecessary period of time. Michael could sense his increased frights.

“Hey, we’re going to be fine. I said so myself, remember? We’re going to best the dragon then give Glyndwr enough wine that he’ll knock over dishware again.”

“Enough that he’ll knock tables onto their sides,” Evart laughed, smile genuine enough for Michael’s liking. Nevertheless, Evart jumped as more sounds tore through the sky.

As the thunder grew louder and the land grew increasingly darker, the elves began gathering themselves together, weapons held limply in their arms. The elves who grew skilled enough with a sword stood to the front with shields resting on the ground, whilst the archers were lined up behind them. Medb paced behind the army, Glyndwr at her side while Evart was with Michael as he sat atop Gerard to see over the small groupings of rocks they hid partially behind.

It felt like they were standing for ages, blind as the day faded into night and a cool rain began trickling down onto them. For a fleeting moment, Michael almost thought that despite all the thunder, the great dragon wasn’t going to strike just yet. Everything seemed so uncharacteristically quiet as compared to earlier, and it was more unnerving than Michael would have liked. Michael didn’t want to ask where the great dragon was when he didn’t want to ever find him.

The rain picked up, slicking the ground as it soaked through their clothing. Michael felt his tunic stick to his skin and his toes grow cold in his boots while his eyes started to feel heavy. The thunderous noises startled Michael awake every time, yet his tired mind couldn’t differentiate the great dragon’s roars from the storm overhead.

When a dark shape rose noiselessly from the vast mountain standing before them, Michael knew their war had begun. It was black against the deep grey of the sky, only visible when lightning shook the world awry for a moment. The great dragon made his entrance, and almost passed unnoticed. Almost.

Once he was in flight, the great dragon screamed and set the clouds alight, orange burning in the sky. The noise the great dragon released was more frightening than anything Michael had ever heard before, his cry drowning the sounds of thousands of weapons being drawn at once. Michael could see the flames reflect off of innumerable arrow tips. His own sword had golden patterns dancing across the blade.

For a moment the world was lost in flames until Michael realized that there was no time to hesitate. He gestured for Evart to remain behind everyone, before riding to the front of their group. Michael never took his eyes from the silhouette in the sky whilst the sound of hooves against rocks was hardly inaudible over the noise.

“Hold your fire,” Michael shouted as he rode alongside the rows of archers. “Hold your fire. Don’t fight yet.”

Every bow remained trained on the dragon, but not a single arrow was lost yet. An elf looked up at Michael, expression questioning. Michael carefully made his way over, accepting the elf’s inquiries with a nod, feeling eyes rest on him from the others near him.

“What are you doing?” the elf said over the storm. Michael could tell that he was merely frightened of how the dragon had taken then unawares. “The great dragon is here.”

“He’s moving around. We’ve little chances of hitting him with arrows until he’s on the ground. Unless that fire is directed our way, we should wait until he’s on the ground to strike. It’s too dark for us to see in the sky and properly aim,” Michael said, looking towards the great dragon in the sky and hoping his decision was sound. “I’ll go see what Medb can do in the meantime.”

The elf nodded before turning around to pass the information, Michael hardly catching a word as he rode to the back of the group again. He quickly dismounted Gerard and led him over to where Medb was drawing her staff across the ground like she was earlier in the day. Her runes were almost finished, only a few strokes from being connected.

“Once these are done, the great dragon should feel their impact,” Medb said through the strain of scratching into the rocks. Michael had no doubt the use of magic was exhausting. After a few more moments, Medb removed her staff from the ground and leaned heavily on it. “It’s done. Watch him.”

The great dragon faltered in the sky before letting out an awful noise that died quickly. It was clear that the force behind the great dragon’s rage was already starting to lack. Michael hoped the power of Medb’s runes lasted for long enough. It circled in the sky lazily for a moment before lowering itself to the ground. The moment the great dragon touched the rock, Michael heard shouts before silver lines raced through the air and towards where the dragon had landed.

Through the rain and dark it was nearly impossible to see how successful the archers were, but the increasingly angry sounds from the great dragon led Michael to believe that their offences were either proving successful or irritating him. Michael turned halfway towards Medb, voice directed at her but attention towards the battle.

“What can you do now?” Michael asked, trying to decide what would be the best course of action.

“Weaken him or weaken his attacks, perhaps? Or I can try to target points of weakness, but I’d need to be closer,” Medb reasoned aloud, twisting her staff in the mix of ash and water on the ground. Michael watched the way the shadowed reflection moved around.

“What do you think would be most effective?” Michael asked as he tightened his grip on Gerard’s reins. The elves were fighting well on their own, but he needn’t tarry for much longer.

“I’m going to go in closer,” Medb said, grabbing her staff and starting off towards the great dragon, but Michael caught her arm before she could make it too far. “Yes?”

“Be careful. The elves won’t be able to see you easily in the dark, so be warry of their arrows. We don’t know if we’re actually injuring the dragon or just provoking him. Do things from afar if it’s not save nearer to the great dragon.”

Medb nodded then sprinted across the shiny ground, her dress billowing around her legs as she disappeared into the streaks of rain and behind the rocks. Michael then left in search of Evart, finding him lingering behind the archers, looking lost. Glyndwr had disappeared amongst the ranks of elves.

“This dragon won’t take all that the archers are giving him without some counterattack. You’re the sole healer who isn’t primarily a fighter. Prepare yourself for helping people soon, Ev. The dragon is stronger than he lets on. Be careful of offences on both sides when you’re helping people, alright?”

Evart nodded slowly, eyes wide with shock. The dawning realization that he was finally in battle must have been hitting Evart rather harshly. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be careful.”

“How are you, by the way?” Michael said, taking the brief moment to brush droplets of water off of his face and out of his hair, shaking his hands to get the water off after a moment. Afterwards he pulled on animal hide gloves to offer slight protection over bare skin. The rain was starting to soak everything, and the thunder was deafening.

“A little shaken, but I’ll be alright. Saving people means saving myself too, so I’ll be fine soon.” Evart paused a moment, glancing at their dark surroundings. “Have you seen Glyndwr recently?”

“No, I haven’t. I presume he’s fallen in with the archers. Hey, Ev,” Michael began, putting a hand on Evart’s shoulder, but an elven leader rode up and stopped next to Michael, interrupting his thought. “I have to go, but this’ll all work out, Ev.”

Michael hated not knowing whether or not he was lying to Evart, but fought past it and turned towards the elf, seeking what he wanted. The elf looked just as distraught as Michael felt, which wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.

“Medb was calling for you,” the elf said, breathless yet sounding relieved he finally found Michael. “No one dared get as close to the great dragon as her, but we heard her calling your name.”

Michael offered a slight nod before riding up past the rocks that separated the archers from the great dragon, finding a silhouetted figure far nearer to him than Michael would have liked. He felt Gerard by the protection of the rocks and ran forward, pulling Medb back away from the dragon to speak with her. The ground near the great dragon was alight with fires, the dragon never once ceasing its assault ahead of it. Being so near to it was more than frightening. Michael wished for their battle to be as brief as it could.

“Michael, the archers have wounded its eyes,” Medb rushed quickly, pointing to where arrows had punctured the great dragon’s skin before quickly returning her hand to her staff. “It can’t see us any longer. We should have other’s rush in with different weapons. The arrows can’t damage the plated scales.”

“I’ll tell them,” Michael said, turning to go, but he pivoted on his toe to stop himself. “What have you been doing?”

“I’m keeping its fires at bay,” Medb muttered. Michael saw the staff in her hands and the concentration across her face. Her hands were growing white with the strength of her grip on the wood.

“This is them at bay? I don’t want to see them when they’re not restrained,” Michael muttered, starting to step backwards towards the rest of the army.

“No, you do not. Now go,” Medb said, and Michael needed no more prompting to return to the armies.

After a brief conversation, the elven leaders started sending the sword wielding elves beyond the protection of the rocks. They made a slow start, the elves’ light footsteps hardly making a sound as they approached the great dragon. Meanwhile the archers took refuge against the rocks and began aiming their arrows towards the dragon’s mouth in periods when the dragon was thrashing his tail instead of setting the world afire.

With the archers serving as a distraction for the dragon, the soldiers with swords ran forward, their blades making harsh sounds against the armoring of the scales. After a few moments with no result, Michael ran out after them, sword in hand, trying to assist in their lack of success.

“You can’t break through the scales. Try to get underneath them,” Michael shouted, taking his sword and forcing it up between the scales for example. The howl in response told Michael that he was successful. “Just watch that its limbs or tail don’t hurt you.”

Michael started forward, planning to assist the many elves attempting to wound the dragon’s legs, when he heard screaming from behind him. Running towards the sound, Michael told the elves to keep up their offences on the great dragon while it couldn’t fight back. He then turned back towards the screams, his legs moving of their own accord. He was amazed when he didn’t slip over the damp ground.

Once he reached the rocks, he found Medb, hands fully white around her staff as she contorted with pain. As he got closer, Michael could see Medb visibly shaking as she held on and braced herself against the ground. Michael tried to grab her arms, but she slipped out of his grasp and continued to point her staff towards the great dragon.

“Medb, whatever it is that you’re doing, you need to stop,” Michael said, trying to take her hands despite how much she fought back.

“No, I’m helping,” Medb said in a strained voice. Michael could barely hear her over the cries of the dragon. “I just don’t have magic.”

“You’re killing yourself.”

“Then so be it,” Medb said, her face twisting even more as she tried to silence herself.

“No,” Michael said, wrapping his hands over Medb’s to gain her attention. “You’re not dying. You’re not. You’re going over to Evart and you’re going to feel well again.”

“I’m helping,” Medb practically whined, though her attempts at fighting back all but ceased. Her grip around her staff remained, as though breaking it would cease all magic being sent against the dragon’s attacks. “I just have no magic.”

“Look,” Michael said, untying the plum colored sash from her waist and placing it over her hands. “You have magic. You’ve exhausted yourself, though. Please go find Evart and be well. You’ve done more than your fair share in this fight. We’ve other skilled fighters who can assist.”

Medb nodded, acknowledging how worn she was, then slowly made her way behind the rocks. Michael watched her briefly, ensuring she was mostly out of harm’s way, before turning back towards the great dragon. It was then that Michael realized how greatly Medb contributed to their side of the battle. Her magic kept a lot of the great dragon’s strength at bay. Without that, the elves near him were beginning to suffer.

The great dragon’s fire began reaching further, nearing the rocks where the archers were hidden, and his tail began thrashing around and hitting the swordsmen near it. What worried Michael most though was that the dragon’s wings began rising again, no longer limp across its back. The great dragon was trying to fly again.

“Keep him from flying,” Michael called up to the archers, averting his eyes when many of the elves near the dragon’s legs were suffering from his increased movement. Michael couldn’t ignore the sound of the tail against the elven armor, though, as much as he tried. “Aim for his mouth or wings.”

While the archers switched their focus, Michael ran out to the aid of the elves trying to break through the scales. They were all too small to aim for anything higher than the dragon’s legs given the dragon’s size, but their efforts could keep him grounded. All along the way, Michael called at various soldiers to assist those who had been wounded by fire and the dragon’s sheer force alike.

Once he was near enough, he too began attempting to strike beyond the great dragon’s scales, the magic in his sword contributing greatly to injuring him unlike the standard elven sword. Michael managed to force his sword between two scales, the cry the dragon made sounding terrifying to him, but he only continued to push the blade further into its leg.

The dragon began thrashing around, the movement forcing Michael’s sword from the dragon’s leg and throwing him to the ground. By the time Michael realized what had happened, his side felt numb and his plate armor was bent around his forearm, and the dragon had taken flight. Coming to his senses, Michael pushed himself across the damp ground despite how badly his arm felt, trying to escape from under the dragon.

He flew low and unsteady, arrows piercing through his mouth as he tried to burn the archers. When a number of arrows pierced through the dragon’s mouth, he faltered in his flight and struck out at the rock with his foot before circling back to where he had been standing beforehand. For a moment the only sounds were the crumbling of stone and the sound of the rain, until thunder and screams of anguish broke the sky.

“Don’t give up fighting him,” Michael shouted to the elves who were near where the dragon had landed, encouraging them to keep him at bay. With slight acknowledgement from the elves, Michael ran towards where the archers were amidst rubble.

Michael began to help the elves up, telling the unharmed ones to continue fighting or to assist the wounded ones to a clearing the dragon’s fires couldn’t reach. It was grueling work trying to help so many in such a short span of time, but Michael was relieved to find more soldiers uninjured than those who were hurt by the dragon’s attack. Once everyone was pulled from the rubble, Michael rushed over to Evart to ensure his wellbeing before returning to the fight.

“Ev, what’s wrong?” Michael asked as he approached Evart, seeing him crouched over someone laying on the ground. He knelt next to Evart, stiff legs and numb arm protesting the movement, before looking at whomever was lying before them. “Oh, Ev.”

“Glyndwr was hit by the dragon,” Evart whispered, and Michael felt his heart break alongside Evart’s. “Mikey, he– What do I do?”

Michael bent over Glyndwr and saw streaks of blood across his neck as he tipped Glyndwr’s head sideways slightly in search of any noticeable wounds. He sat for a second, just staring at his friend before turning to Evart and grabbing his face in both hands. “Ev, you’re a healer, and I know you’re a good one. Glyndwr is dying, Ev. Countless other elves are dying. You’re going to heal them.”

Evart nodded slightly in agreement, fighting for expression to remain unchanged despite the tears slipping down his face. When Michael was satisfied, he stood up and grasped his sword, trying to ignore the streaks of blood he left on Evart’s jaw.

“Michael, what are you doing?” Evart called, noticing the change in Michael’s demeanor.

“I’m going to end this,” Michael replied, not turning back as he searched for Gerard. As he walked away, Michael tried not to crumple to the ground upon hearing Evart’s sobs rise above the sound of the battle.

Not shortly after, Michael found Gerard tucked safely against a portion of the rocks that remained unscathed. He quickly mounted his horse then drew his sword, encouraging Gerard to ride as quickly as he could. Michael rode past the rocks then weaved through the elves, ignoring their shouts.

The great dragon heard Gerard’s hooves upon the ground, his fire burning bright in Michael’s direction to keep him away, but Michael just rode faster. He pushed forward, waving away the elves near him before plunging into the edge dragon’s fire. The pain he felt was immense but brief, heating his arm and lapping at his skin, yet Michael pressed Gerard through it regardless, weaving around the great dragon’s mouth until he was beneath it.

Michael stood on the stirrups to increase his height, his sword pulling down on his numb arm. As his horse kept riding, Michael prepared himself before finally pushing up with every ounce of strength he had left to drive his sword through the great dragon’s heart.

The screams of the dragon rivaled his own, the two both filled with immense pain as Michael was thrown off Gerard. Michael landed heavily on the ground, the rocks denting his armor and scraping his head, whilst the great dragon tried to take flight. His attempts, however, faltered as his wings grew limp and he fell into the side of the mountain of black stone.

With one last attempt, the great dragon screamed in anguish as he lit the world on fire, before he grew still and everything fell quiet once more. Flames reflected across the damp ground, their images distorted into a blur or oranges and reds. Michael watched the rain drops leave circles in the puddles as he marveled at the colors spread across the ground.

Stones pressed into his cheek but he hardly felt them, his entire body numbed with pain. Michael just remained, watching as the rain dimmed the fires until the clouds cleared from above him. He could hear the elves move around in the dark, distanced voices calling out indecipherable words, yet he felt alone.

Eventually the reflections across the ground grew white, the flames no more as the moon finally took its place in the uninterrupted sky. Michael was glad that if he was to remain in the darkness forevermore, his last view would be of the moon, his final beacon of light. It made everything around Michael, from the limited view he saw, a touch brighter; it reminded him of Luke.

Michael stared at the moon in the water, remembering back to what Medb had taught him all those weeks prior. Of all the times Michael would have needed to see Luke’s face, it would have been when he was lying on the ground feeling his life seep from him. Michael needed to feel the warmth Luke brought him one final time.

After a while, the seconds ticking away, the moon blurred into a silhouetted face against a horizon on fire. Luke was leaning on the edge on his balcony, watching the fires from leagues away. Michael could see how Luke shook in the image he was watching, his entire body trembling as he gripped the stone tighter. Everything in Michael’s vision was growing dimmer, yet he still saw how visibly hurt Luke looked.

Eventually the brightness of the horizon grew tenfold, the wrath of the great dragon even visible from such a distance. The horizon burned painfully bright. When the fires faded into darkness, Luke crumpled to the ground, his head in his hands. The battle had ended and it hardly appeared to be a success. As an afterthought, Michael was hardly sure he would consider it entirely successful.

Michael wanted to scream out in agony, both his mind and body feeling torn apart, but he couldn’t do much more than writhe on the ground. Luke was in pain just as he was, and Michael could only watch his blood cloud the puddle and turn Luke’s fading image a deep red. Michael hung onto every curve and line of Luke’s face until the water was too saturated with blood for him to even see the moon clearly.

Michael wanted everything to end, even that which extended beyond the battle. The great dragon was no more. Michael wanted the fears of everyone to fade into nonexistence. There was nothing to bring terror into their lives anymore. The townsfolk, Calum, Ashton, and Luke, as well as every knight who fought, they all deserved safety and happiness after suffering through such hardships. Such sufferings were no more, and Michael wished for light to return into their lands.

He wanted it to all end – the battle, the aftermath, his pain – all to fade to numbness; he wanted his misery to end. Michael just watched as everything grew darker and he shook with pain, agony choking ever attempt to cry out for others, for Calum, for Luke, choking on the metallic taste of his life seeping from him. He was silenced and alone while life was bleeding from and onto the ground before him.

Michael wanted it all to be over, and with his vision having fallen as black as the ash filling his burning world, he finally saw it. It was the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I've been waiting to write for ages, and we've finally made it! Thank you to everyone who's read/commented/given kudos because it all means so much. I don't really have any notes aside from the mention that I just used basic symbolism for the color purple with Medb's sash.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and the like are all very appreciated, and here's my [tumblr](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested. Thanks, friends!


	11. elevate my soul above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i'm ready to fly, uncover the light_  
>  _impossible heights_  
>  -[White Blood by Oh Wonder](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etYtpKN8TgM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in a brief update I have since deleted, I will be continuing this story to completion, it will just take me some time. I have a chapter for you all, though! Shorter than normal, but important. Only four more chapters after this one. After, I hope to edit the previous chapters. Speaking of, I plan to add a reference to a creature called an Ulama, or devil bird, which screams like a human as an omen of death. Keep this in mind as you read the chapter. I hope you enjoy :) Also, please pardon any spelling/formatting errors; it is very late.

It was the beginning.

Death wasn’t easy. Death was ever-falling into a darkness that wasn’t deep enough, wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t still enough. Death was being pieced apart time and time again only to be recreated. Michael was being reborn from his agony—he felt his body become undone, then felt nothing at all. He would rather fall to pieces than endure the suffering of being stitched together again, such pain in healing. He could never fall into ultimate darkness. Michael’s end led him to a beginning he hadn’t the strength to fight for.

Michael felt alight. As the sky burnt away, so did he. Flames were nestled in his heart, burning feebly, and his skin was dry like flaking embers cluttering the lands; finding the air to fuel his fire became increasingly difficult. There was light, soft and muted, within him. Michael knew the world saw it flickering away.

Noise filled the air like the agony writhing in his chest; Michael could hardly determine whether the screams surrounding him were his own, from others, or from no one at all. The world felt the same pain as him; he knew the world felt the same burning excruciation as him. Nothing would ever compare to it—no pain would ever be enough.

Death was also quiet in the way that silence could scream. When Michael felt as though his chest were to rupture, he was alone in his pain, but when he was shrouded by nothingness, chaos surrounded him. There was cruel irony in his sufferings, never peace. The ground trembled beneath him as though seized by the same fear that he felt, soot stained his tongue and choked him, and voices pressed against his forehead and caused his chest to fill with pain.

Michael knew the voices, the far-off and indiscernible whispers, and he heard how laden they were with sorrow. As much as Michael labored to fall away into nothingness, the voices begged Michael to hold on. Onto what, Michael never knew, but always to hold on. Their sorrows saturated their voices, drowning Michael in a similar feeling.

They paid no mind to his wishes; never mind that he could feel his limbs or that he wanted to let go, it was always to hold on. Michael tried to apologize to them, but Michael knew his body had already gone slack—he had already been slipping.

“Please, keep breathing,” the voices whispered to him as rough hands smoothed fires across his forehead.

Michael tried crying out, begging for the voices to end his suffering, but it felt as though mountains had fallen onto his chest, piercing his sides. The world was trying to smother him, but to no avail. Death had its grip, but it still wasn’t pulling him away. Michael loathed his terrible limbo.

“Ev, your effort is as much as you can give,” one of the voices said, talking as though Michael couldn’t hear. Sometimes he wished he didn’t have to listen to them. “You cannot give your life away, not after so many others have already done so.”

“I will give as much of it as I can,” another voice said, rough against the sweetness of the earlier voice. How greatly Michael wished he could ascertain who the voices belonged to, yet his mind worked too slow for him to ever determine his endless questions; he could hardly understand what the vast string of words meant.

“Why ever would you?”

“Medb, I know the agony of almost losing someone to these fires. I cannot even fathom the pain of losing love, and I would never wish that upon Luke.”

“Oh, Evart. Do you speak of Glyndwr? Almost? Now is hardly the time for naivety.”

“Medb, you’ve no right to say more. Please. I— I cannot entertain such, such hypotheticals! Please. Please you ought to rest or bide your time. You’ve been hurt as well, and we cannot stay for much longer.”

The voices faded as the darkness grew, like wind blowing sunlight over resting faces; light faded into shadows like waves. Michael could never comprehend what the voices were saying, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. He did not invite the suffering the voices were filled with to overcome himself. His pain was already unbearable.

“Almost” rang in Michael’s head until the world lost all meaning.

Michael always fathomed death to be gentler than his seemed to be—a boat floating along the stream until it washed upon the shores of afterlife, not a tumult. Michael would drift quietly through his pain until he was turned asunder by the violence of a storm. He was desperate for his white afterlife—he experienced the fires of hell for far too long. His storm was unrelenting, though.

The chaotic agony eventually stalled, suffocating smoke and a trembling ground traded for stability and blinding gold. It was a welcome and familiar calm, but it was temporary and stagnant. The gold slowly brought back the light filling Michael’s being, but it wasn’t enough to scare the shadow of death. Battles were ever-consuming him.

The screams never faded. Even in his haven of gold, the screams followed him. Sometimes, Michael could tell they belonged to him, the sounds demanding their raw escape from his throat. Other times they warmed him, tearing away at what little light remained within him, talons dragging across his skin. The soft voices never stopped asking Michael to hold on, but he had been falling into his darkness for far longer than he ever cared to admit; Michael was waiting until he hit the bottom.

“As this pain fades, I can hardly prepare you for all that will greet you once you return from the grip of death,” a voice whispered to Michael, light like spun gold. He longed for the life behind it. “You will meet great sorrow like it is an old friend. The birds are still screaming, Michael, but not for you.”

The words followed him into his nothingness.

It was the prolonged isolation that brought Michael to his memories of when the great dragon first visited the kingdom with its fires. Michael loathed the similarities between how he felt in the differing times—both brought him sadness and pain.

It had been a quiet day before the great dragon visited. Michael had been reveling in the companionship of a new brother, playing quietly along the dirty cobbles of their home, but the sky grew darker and the shadows grew fierce. Screams had echoed through the alleys and down towards their cottage. It was never uncommon, the screaming, but it travelled in a way that no one had heard—no one had ever made such terrible sounds before. It was the cruel mark of what was to come, ignored by the poor unsuspecting peasants who knew not to count down to their deaths.

It was only when the screams reverberated against the cobbles and the sky was filled with a deep rumble that Michael and his family ventured to their ever-damp street in search of the commotion. A black shadow had passed overhead, but it was hardly from a storm cloud.

The screams returned. The voices fought against them.

“Michael, we’re going to get home safely. Everyone will return to home safely. Glyndwr, he’s— he’ll be all right too. It will be as though tragedy never passed over us—we’ll all return the heroes of children’s stories, like we spoke of.”  
“Evart, he needs you!”

“Glyn, please…”

The voices clouded Michael’s memories while the sound of soft crying made its rise against the piercing noises. The voices sounded chaotic amongst themselves, strained and panicked, growing together until they couldn’t be heard. The screams became deafening.

Darkness brought silence.

It was when the streets of the kingdom filled with clouds of ash that the world grew silent. Ever after years of reflection, Michael never knew if everyone had been at a loss for words or if the chaos became so overwhelming that he could bear listening to the suffering. Silence was the true example of sorrow, where words were finally lost. When the kingdom first burnt, the streets were laden with it.

The voices were gone too. Even in his memory-addled darkness, Michael knew the newfound silence brought heavy sorrow; he was drowning in it.

“Evart, you need to let go. He’s gone. Glyndwr—”

“Bring him back!”

“You need to let go. Michael needs a physician of men, or he will meet the same end. Grab the horses and run, as quickly as you can. You must catch Michael in his decent otherwise he will meet Glyndwr in their shared white afterlife. Death has been watching over him for far too long. If you wish to save him, please, make haste.”

After the great dragon had passed over Michael and his family on that terrible day, Michael’s father had grabbed him and wrapped him tightly, running over the cobbles while his mother cradled Calum carefully. Michael remembered the way the fires had created terrible shadows and illuminated the streaked pathways of tears down Calum’s soot-stained face.

The great dragon brought fires across the tops of roofs and down to the fleeing people, while the king’s army fought in vain to drive the beast away. So many were running blindly towards their deaths; as people congregated, the dragon’s fires found them and struck them down. It had been a massacre.

Michael hadn’t known the degree of the tragedy he was sitting in wait for, nor the years of pain that would follow that night, but he saw how the fires painted the streets red. Lives had been burning away into nothingness.

Amongst the chaos and running silhouettes, Michael’s father had set him against a stone wall, tucked away so even the shadows of those fleeing wouldn’t pass over him. Michael’s father placed Calum gently into Michael’s arms, telling him to wait, to protect his brother, that people needed to be saved, before his father and mother ran across the stained cobbles and into buildings Michael had never seen before.

Women and children ran first from the doors, their clothes all similarly blackened and tattered, before men followed with broken looks upon their faces. Michael had pressed his back against the cold stone, trying to distance himself from the misery of the others. He watched as fewer people made their way out, studying each shadowed face for his family.

The roof of the buildings collapsed and sent a wave of embers out in every direction. They all burnt away in the sea of fire.

Michael’s life started the same way his parents’ lives had ended: in the screaming anguish of flames.

Michael had sunk to the ground, shielding Calum with his arm, before sobbing overtook him. He had been another child, lost and abandoned in the street, crying in the shadows until the torment was over.

“No,” Michael shouted, against the tumult of the world throwing him about, against the rawness of his own throat, against the lonely darkness consuming him. Michael shouted until his body refused to produce sound.

Michael fathomed his life would end the same way it had started. He reveled in the closure it brought him.

“You’re almost home, Michael. Please, don’t let go; we don’t want to lose you as well. We can’t. Whatever has kept you going thus far, please, don’t forget it.”

A hand reached out and took Michael’s, pressing life back into him. Michael feebly tried to hold on; he finally saw light in his cold darkness for the first time in a long time, and Lord, Michael would be a fool to let go of it. The hand gently took Michael’s and wrapped his fingers around the mane of a horse; Michael curled them as tightly as he could manage, fighting against the strain of his muscles and the pain of his wounds.

“Hold on tightly,” another voice said from behind Michael, quiet and timid like it wasn’t used to speaking. “We plan to ride fast and hard to get you back home.”

After a moment, the horses beneath Michael started galloping, and the jarring movement sent tremors of pain through his being. He screamed in agony before the darkness overtook him once more.

The darkness eventually gave way and light returned—life returned. Michael could feel it surround him as the edge to his pain fell away into tiredness; he wanted sleep, not as an escape but as a fix. Michael could feel the life so close to him, and he wanted to experience it also; Michael could feel how his body slowly tried to heal him, and he wanted to finally claim consciousness. He found it difficult to fight against the heaviness of his eyes, of his limbs, of the confusion numbing his mind, but that wouldn’t cease his trying.

“The villagers look confused at our reappearance from the trees,” a far-off voice called, sweet but tired—Medb, Michael ascertained after an exorbitant amount of effort. Michael questioned what she meant, but eventually determined that they had passed from the forest; they were in the grasslands where the villages on the outskirts of the land of men were located. Michael wished he could be more conscious than the delirium he was in. He hated how difficult it was to be aware of all that was around him; he wanted stability, not the difficult balance between the edge of life and death.

“The fires in the sky,” a villager shouted out towards them, fear softening his voice. “Have they vanished? What of the great dragon?”

“The great dragon is no more,” Medb said quietly, sad. “No more.”

“Our savior, oh thank you,” the man groveled, relief filling him.

“No, not I,” Medb said. “Michael, he is your savior.”

The villager paused for a moment. “Will he be all right?”

Michael wanted to scream out, to say he felt as though he might never be all right, but his mind already grew fuzzy. Voices started sounding muffled, like shouting through fabric. Michael was fading once again, and he wanted nothing more than to hold onto his consciousness.

“We surely hope—Are there horses running from the kingdom?”

After a brief silence, it was Evart who spoke, finally. “The king.”

“The king, running out towards the villages? Why ever would he?”

“Someone must have seen us emerge from the forest,” Evart muttered, sounding distracted.

“Luke’s coming for Michael.”

“Then we shall meet him.”

Unconsciousness returned.

It felt almost sudden, the ground no longer trembling, but Michael hadn’t any bearing on time. Never mind the uncertain time elapse, stillness finally came, white like moonlight. Michael could almost feel Luke’s presence, the calm in his seemingly endless storm—deserved reprieve.

Luke.

“My Lord.”

Fabric ruffled as a signal of many bowing.

Luke.

“Oh, Mikey. What great tragedies have afflicted you?”

Hot tears fell onto Michael’s cheek white cold fingers brushed his forehead. Pain seized his heart, causing tremors to shake his body. Michael wanted peace, not sorry; he wanted a full moon, not a new one.

“What great tragedies have afflicted you all?”

A quiet sob surrounded them before it was choked to silence. The sound reminded Michael of how he saw Luke on that terrible night, scried from the water upon the ground as his final pieces of consciousness fell away.

Luke had appeared more broken than Michael had ever felt, collapsed under the weight of his sadness, of his heavy heart. The fires on the horizon had emphasized the terror filling Luke’s faces, creating harsh lines across the softness of his features. He fell to the stone floor of his balcony, tears masked by the rain falling onto him. Luke had curled into himself that night, damp and alone, fingers digging into his sides as he let out all of the agony that pressed upon his heart.

Even though his world was no longer filled with burning chaos, Luke’s presence felt sad like before, turned numb by how much he hurt. Luke was broken in a novel way.

“I’m taking him back to the kingdom—he needs healers, and I’ve the fastest horse in all the stables. I am eternally grateful to each of you for your parts in this. Discussions are in order as it appears that,” Luke paused, coughing lightly to regain an even voice. “Sorrow has overtaken us, but new faces are a more-than-welcome sight. That is for later, though. Now, let us continue to spare innocence.”

“My Lord,” Evart began, but he trailed into silence.

“Evart, no formalities. We are friends.”

“Luke, please save him.”

“I could never forgive myself if I didn’t.”

Michael felt as Luke sat behind him, chest hovering over his back as he leaned forward in preparation to leave. Luke’s arm gently held Michael at his waist, sturdy but a breadth away from him so as not to hurt him. After a moment, Luke spoke to his horse before they began their agonizing ride towards the warm embrace of safety.

Michael regained awareness once the tremors beneath his body ceased and the horse was stilled. Unknown hands carefully raised him from the horse’s back—the shift in his position was an unwelcome change, his displeasure a scream echoing throughout the barn. Michael’s pain blossomed terribly, and with its rise, his awareness of his surroundings faded.

He could tell he was being carried indoors, Luke’s arms supporting him giving him a calm in his seemingly endless torture. All too soon, two pairs of boots clicked loudly over the stone floors of the castle, causing Michael’s mind to grow fuzzy.

“My Lord, where would you prefer to take him?” an infantryman asked, voice a welcome whisper.

“Please, I’ll take him to my chambers,” Luke responded quietly from above Michael.

“My Lord, he’s caked with mud and presumably blood as well. The healers’ priority is not to contain a mess.”

“As I said, I’ll take him to my chambers. Linens are expendable, but he is not. I’d like for him to have the utmost comfort as he heals.”

“Of course, My Lord. We’ve already sent for a physician and a healer. We’ll direct them immediately to your chambers. Is there anything you’d like for us to acquire in the meanwhile?”

“A washbasin, cloths, and unsoiled clothing, please. Broth, if we’ve any, and blankets as well. He looks terribly emaciated.”

“All will be brought.”

“Thank you greatly for your assistance.”

“He is kind to us—you, as well. We want to help him.”

“Thank you,” Luke said, voice soft and choked.

For a moment, it was only the sound of boots that echoed through the halls.

“If I may speak openly, My Lord?”

“You may.”

“You look terribly emaciated as well.”

“I—,” Luke started, yet words failed him.

“I’ll bring broth for the both of you,” the infantryman said, before wandering off, leaving the sound of only Luke’s boots against the floor.

Michael wished he wasn’t too far one to help, help himself, help Luke. When he was finally placed into the safety of Luke’s bed, the tides of malady drew him under once more.

He was overwhelmed by feverish dreams and the hands of healers. Cleansing water felt like ice against his skin, removing the traces of blood and fires still clinging to him. Michael’s body stung with wounds he never knew he acquired; pain grew in branches through his body.

Healers spread ointments over the wounds on his skin, harsh yet relieving simultaneously, then pulled bandages tight around him. His limbs were laden with strips of fabric, heavy and binding, preventing him from movement should he ever gain the awareness for it. Michael felt as though he hadn’t truly escaped the fires of the distant lands—with his misery came a fever he thought would never break.

Once the tumult of healers left his side, Michael was settled into the seemingly endless sleep of overcoming his affliction. Michael only woke when the healers returned to dress his wounds, but sleep overtook him quickly. He welcomed it as best he could, yet Michael couldn’t help but fight against the waves of exhaustion hitting him—he was desperate to return to the conscious world, to see the faces of those he loved. Michael could no longer bear only hearing the distant voices of the world.

After what felt like eternity, a cold hand startled Michael from his slumber. It brushed damp hair from his forehead before lips replaced it.

“Michael, everyone in the heavens knows how terribly I miss you, but I’d rather you sleep for a thousand days before you returned to us than be ever lying down,” Luke whispered, soft and tired. “Oh, Mikey, please come back to me soon.”  
Lips pressed against Michael’s forehead once more before Luke’s touch faded away and silence suffocated him.

Desperation filled Michael’s body; he was writhing under it. Michael needed to find Luke’s presence once again, he needed Luke’s purity and light, reprieve from his stagnant and delirious hell. Michael couldn’t stand hovering on the edge of awareness for any longer. Fires hand burnt him down from everything he once was, but Michael was ready to be reborn from his ashes. The world was ablaze last Michael saw, yet he desired greatly, still, to be in it once more. No longer would Michael resign himself to lethargy. Michael fought for the lives of all others; now he would fight for his own.

Eventually, the darkness that had ever-consumed his vision faded away like dissipating smoke, revealing the warmth of firelight mixing with sterile moonlight on the smooth stone floor of Luke’s room. In that moment, nothing seemed more beautiful than the pale white lines of light the moon pressed between the gaps in the shutters covering the windows. The white over the flickering reds and yellows was the first color Michael had seen in a very long time.

Michael fought to focus his eyes, but he eventually saw the heaps of blankets about his feet, piled over him only to be folded at his thighs; the edge of the blanket resting against his skin was a shade darker from sweat. His chest was bare, exposed to the air, yet strips of bandages were wrapped across him, their white stained heavily with stale red.

Michael surveyed the toll the battle took on him with apprehension. Thick strips of linen were wrapped around his left thigh at the edge of the blanket, nearly hidden from sight. Michael hadn’t the slightest idea how he injured himself there. Beyond that, his right arm was heavily bandages so that it was fasted to be bent at the elbow. Michael tried to move his fingers, then seized at the pain. Abandoning the hopeless cause, he noticed his right side heavily stained with blood, both on the bandages and beyond; he winced at the sight. The skin over his body felt taut from burns, and his head was already aching from fatigue.

Michael tried to keep his vision clear, fighting how his eyes constantly blurred everything he looked at. The firelight confused him, filling the room with severity Michael hadn’t felt before. Luke’s chambers in and of themselves were hardly what Michael remembered.

The bedding was unkempt, half of it spilling to the floor, looking forgotten like no one cared to retrieve it, and clothes were tossed haphazardly about the furniture. Michael saw his plate armor lying dented and bloody by the door with his tunic and trousers next to it, faring terribly from the fires. After the battle, Michael hadn’t noticed the terrible state he was in. A little way away, a mostly-empty basin sat with rags draped over the edge, reminding Michael of the pain of healing; he looked away with a grimace. Despite his increasing fatigue, Michael gathered strength from every fiber in his being to move his head—he was desperate to experience his little glimpse of life before it all faded again—and survey Luke’s room further.

Luke.

Upon seeing Luke, curled and frail, asleep in an armchair near his bedside, Michael nearly broke under his sadness. The firelight emphasized the translucence of Luke’s skin and the hollowness of his cheeks. Luke’s eyes looked bruised, framed by ever-knit eyebrows, deep colors against his pallor. It matched the night of the battle in a way Michael hated to see.

The pain of sadness that filled Michael’s chest rivaled that of the fires; Michael’s lungs felt ablaze and no number of tears would dampen the flames.

With everything Michael had, fighting off sleep and weariness alike, he pushed himself upright. His sides strained under the exertion, and once his right arm bore any of his weight, Michael nearly collapsed under the burning sensations spreading from his elbow and across his ribs. Still, Michael pushed on, propping himself as much as his body could possibly allow, eyebrows taut under strain.

Michael reached out, fighting against the pain protesting throughout his being. Slowly, his fingertips brushed against Luke’s cool skin, slipping down his cheek before Michael’s arm fell under its own weight.  
Luke’s eyes fluttered open, lips parting in shock. Tears fell down Luke’s face, reflecting the dancing flames in the hearth; Michael knew that there were already tears down his. Luke reached out and placed his hand gently over Michael’s cheek, thumb smoothing away tears. Slowly, a feeble smile filled his face.

“Michael.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! There will be more, but I make no promises as to how long that will take. I'm trying my best! I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies, as well as a huge thanks to [Rey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pilotmikey/pseuds/pilotmikey), who helped out tons. God only knows what I'd be without you.
> 
> [Here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/144995892106/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) is the official post for The Fire You Put Me Through, which should have everything in it.
> 
> [Fleur](http://lukefightme.tumblr.com) drew amazing art which you can see [here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/145647584776/lukefightme-medieval-kingluke-and). [Michelle](http://hemmichelle.tumblr.com/) drew art as well, which can be seen [here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/147147985931/hemmichelle-1-i-suck-at-drawing-2-i) and [here](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/147153916556/hemmichelle-petalmikey-heres-the-new-drawing).
> 
> The Fire You Put Me Through also has an official (and complete) [playlist](http://petalmikey.tumblr.com/post/145520830061/the-fire-you-put-me-through-turned-me-into-gold) that follows along with the chapter songs and vibe I feel when I'm writing.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my story! I'm always on [tumblr](petalmikey.tumblr.com) so come hang out!


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